The Lost Get Found
by TheGladElf
Summary: Just a little collection for all my CS drabbles that can't really stand on their own. Equal parts angst and fluff...probably.
1. I Noticed

It's the cat caught eating the canary look on his face that gives him away.

Also, she knows what day it is and she knows her mother...and how hard it is to say no to her mother. Especially when you're a pirate who just so happens to be madly in love. With her, not her mother.

"So, a quiet dinner at Granny's, huh?" she asks, resting her head against Killian's shoulder.

He hums his agreement.

"However did you talk my mother into that?"

He flashes his most charming grin. "I believe your instructions were quite clear, Swan. She wants to make you happy."

Emma laughs. "Yes, well, she and I occasionally have different ideas of what will make me happy."

"Don't I know it," Killian mutters.

A chill breeze whooshes in from behind them and Emma lets go of his elbow in lew of pulling his arm over her shoulders and hugging him close. He gives her shoulder a quick squeeze. It is a bit nippy for October, even late October. Killian's cheek brushes against the top of her head, stubble catching at her beanie and shifting it slightly. He sighs when her hand finds her favorite spot, right above his heart where she can feel the steady, warm thrum.

He doesn't say anything, though his arm tightens around her as they walk down Main Street.

"You know, Killian" Emma says. "I will figure out when your birthday is eventually."

"Though I have full confidence in your deductive capabilities, Emma, you should resign yourself to mystery on that count," he says, chuckling.

She pokes him in the ribs. "Really, you want to take a bet on that?"

"It would hardly be good form for me to take a bet that I'm sure to win."

"Ooooh," she says. "Cheeky."

Killian glances up as they make a circuit past the library, trying to be surreptitious as he checks the time. Emma sees it, but she chooses silence. The more she thinks about it, the more she decides that she wants to give this a shot. Maybe she did make a big deal about today not being a big deal, but now she thinks she might have been too hasty on that count. After all, this is the first year she has both the people and the time to make today a big deal. So she'll give them this year. Who knows, if she enjoys it, she might give them next year too.

"So, how about a hint?" Emma prods. "Can you at least give me a season."

"Nope," he says, his grin widening.

Emma presses her lips together. "You sure about that? I could make it worth your while." She stops walking, swinging him around and wrapping her arms around his neck. Killian leans into her, forehead brushing against hers. Tantalizingly close.

"As tempting as that sounds, Emma," he says, his breath warming her lips and chin, "I'm afraid I don't have the information you seek."

Emma pulls back—just a little—catching his eye to see if he's messing with her. "Really?"

"Aye," he says. "Never did."

"Killian, I—"

He cuts her off with a brief kiss. "It's alright, love. I lived centuries without celebrating a birthday, I think I can survive another few decades without one." He ducks down, pressing his lips to hers again, his warmth driving away the chill of the evening. He breaks away, but stays close enough their noses still touch. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Pick a day then," Emma says.

"You're not going to let this go, are you, Swan?"

"Nope."

"Well then," he says. He chews on his bottom lip, while giving her a long, hard stare with those beautiful eyes of his. They're a brighter blue now, Emma would swear it on a stack of Bibles. Everything seems brighter after what they went through. "If this is so important to you, then you choose."

She almost blurts out that since they share a heart, then maybe they should share a birthday too, but that—ridiculously sappy—train of thought leads her to a better idea immediately.

"December sixth," she breathes.

He blinks, the gears turning in his head as he places the date, confusion smoothing into perfect understanding.

"Aye," Killian says, "I suppose that's fitting."

Emma cups the back of his head, pulling him for another—much longer—kiss. She hears the buzz of his phone in his jacket, knows what that must mean, but does her best to convince him to ignore it. Just for a little bit longer.

"Emma…"

"Can't we stall just a little bit longer?"

Killian chuckles. "You noticed?"

"Of course I noticed," Emma says, running her thumb over the smooth part of his cheek. "You're something of an open book."

Killian just rolls his eyes. "Well, I suppose I shall have to warn your mother about that next year."

"Don't worry," Emma says. "I'll act very surprised when we get to Granny's."

"Please do," he says, wrapping her arm around his again. "I should hate to suffer the wrath of your mother."

* * *

 **This particular drabble was written for my Christmas 2015 prompt thing on tumblr. One of six requested by my lovely friend sammmtacular. I hope you enjoy!**

 **Also, Emma's birthday (October 22nd) is gleaned from someone that said the article the day after she was found is dated October 23rd. Anyways, there you go.**


	2. Sorry I'm Late

Milah knows who she is and why she's here.

The minute Rumplestiltskin walks up to her with the blonde at his side, Milah just knows. It's more than her golden hair and the red leather jacket. Killian described her so well, Milah feels like they have already met. The way she holds her head high. The green of her eyes. The purpose in every step she takes.

"You must be Emma," Milah says before Rumple can get a word in edgewise. Shifting the stop sign to her left hand, she holds her right out.

The blonde blinks, but recovers quickly, giving Milah's hand a hearty shake. "And you're Milah." Emma smiles.

"I take it you're here for Killian."

Emma's eyes turn flinty. She nods.

"If you don't mind—" Rumple starts, but Emma cuts him off quickly.

"I do, actually," Emma says. "If you think I'm letting you out of my sight for a second, you've got another thing coming." She and Rumple a silent staring contest ensues. Something passes between the two of them before Rumple looks away, scoffing.

Oh yes, Milah can see why Killian fell for her.

"Well, then," Milah says, "shall we go?"

Emma's eyes soften, a wavering smile gracing her lips. "You know where he is?"

"Of course." Milah unzips her vest, dumping it on the street corner with her sign. No one will take them, and even if they did, her things would just find their way back to her in the morning. She knows. She tried to get rid of them. Rumple falls into step behind them, causing the hairs on the back of Milah's neck to stand up, but Emma doesn't give him more than a cursory glance. Whatever this woman has on Milah's ex-husband must be substantial.

"How is he?" Emma asks. She laces her fingers together, twisting her hands as she glances nervously at Milah. Concern etches harsh lines around her eyes and mouth.

"As well as can be expected," Milah says. "He keeps to himself mostly. Tries to stay out of trouble."

Emma snorts. "Well, that won't last long."

Milah shakes her head. "He's managed to keep quiet the last few months."

"Months?" Emma's voice cracks. "But it's only been a day since I—" Emma bites her lip, looking away from Milah. "Since I last saw him," she finishes quietly.

With a gentle touch to Emma's arm, Milah explains, "Time flows a little differently here."

Emma nods and falls silent for the rest of their walk, checking every now and then to make sure Rumple still follows them. Milah gets nothing else from her until they round a corner and Emma sucks in a sharp breath.

"He came here?" she whispers.

Milah nods. "Aye." Something passes between them when Emma's eyes meet hers. An understanding. The blonde woman doesn't ask how much Killian has told her, she knows without needing to. There is no jealousy in her eyes, just gratitude. A similar sort of gratitude to what Milah felt after learning about Emma. Milah is glad this woman lives up to every word Killian spoke about her. He never said much about what happened between her death and his meeting Emma, but Milah gathers that it was dark.

She never wanted that for him.

And if this woman brought light back into Killian's life? Then Milah loves her a little for that.

Emma swallows and nods, gesturing for Milah to continue on. She falls back a little, muttering something to Rumplestiltkin.

"Don't worry," Rumple says. "I shall behave."

Emma's steps falter a little as Milah opens the flaking white gate with its squealing hinges. Milah isn't sure what the original looks like, but this house could use a few coats of paint. Killian has started making repairs, but there's not much help to be had down here and he prefers to do things himself anyways, so it's taking some time.

The steps creak as Milah mounts them to knock on the door. The cloudy glass rattles a little, but you can still see straight through to the worn table and mismatched chairs in the main room. The room is otherwise bare, but a shout echoes from the second floor. The words are unclear, but Milah has heard them often enough that she recognizes the cadence.

Without thought, Milah reaches for the door. It is unlocked, just as she expected. These hinges also need a good greasing. She glances at Emma as she steps inside, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to explain her familiarity with this house. Milah wants to explain that what they have now is different than what they had when she was alive. At least, it is for Killian. She wants to tell Emma just how much Killian has changed.

But she doesn't, instead she calls out, "Killian?"

"Milah?" His voice echoes down the stair well. "Give me a minute, love. I'll be right down."

Behind her, Emma makes a small noise. The blonde stands in the doorway, a white knuckle grip on the wooden frame, hope and fear playing tug of war across her face. Milah opens her mouth to say she something—anything, but Killian comes clomping down the stairs before she figures out what she should say.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise," he says, wiping the back of his hand down the front of his dark jeans. "I'm almost finished retiling the bathroom, and I could—" Killian stops half way down the stairs. He inhales sharply, eyes going wide. "Swan." No sound comes from his mouth, but Milah recognizes the shape of the word, she's seen him say it often enough. His eyes light up for a split second before terror overtakes his face. "Gods, no," he chokes out. "How—What—"

Rage overtakes Killian's features, and before any of them process the change, he's racing down the stairs and slamming Rumple against the wall.

"What did you do?" he demands, hook pressing hard under Rumple's jaw. "What did you _do_?"

Emma unfreezes, crossing to the two men in half a dozen sure steps. "Killian," she says, covering his hand and prying his fingers from Rumple's lapel. "It's okay. This was my idea."

An immediate change works over Killian. He relaxes, though concern and confusion still play in his eyes, and Rumple shoves him off. Killian barely notices. Since the moment she said his name, Killian has only had eyes for Emma.

"This is the thanks I get for helping you, Ms. Swan?"

"Helping? Emma what's going on?" He reaches for her hand. The confusion doubles the moment his fingers brush her skin and he lifts her hand to his cheek, brow furrowing as he declares the obvious, "You're alive."

"I am," Emma says, tears sparkling in her eyes. "And I'm getting you out of here."

"I don't understand."

Emma takes a step closer to Killian, eliminating almost all the distance between them. "I came to bring you home."

"You came? For me?"

"Yeah," Emma says, swaying into him. A tear falls down her cheek, catching in the lines made by her smile. Her hand moves, fingers threading through his hair as his forehead bumps into hers. "Sorry I'm late."

Milah takes Rumple by the arm and quietly backs out of the house, leaving the two lovers alone.

* * *

 **Another one from my "I Love You" tumblr challenge for these two.**

 **I don't think this is anything like it will go in the show, though there has been confirmation of Emma, Killian, Rumple, & Milah all shooting together. But with what A&E are hinting about 5B I wouldn't be surprised if we're dealing with a few memory challenged individuals during this half of the season too. Because this is Storybrooke, amnesia comes free. Still, when I heard about them shooting together, I this scene came to mind. I sat on it for a while and this prompt worked with it, so I had too, despite how not-canon I feel it's going to be.**

 **I hope you enjoy!**


	3. Can I have this dance?

Of all the ways Emma expected from this day, a ball never even remotely made the list.

She expected to be trekking through the forest or riding through the rain on horseback or whatever it was heroes did when they were on a quest for a mystical sorcerer.

But she was attending a ball. In Camelot. With her family. In the most gorgeous ballgown she'd ever laid eyes on. Like she was some fairy tale princess.

 _I am a princess_ , Emma thought, taking one last look at herself in the mirror. For the first time, she truly felt it. The flower crown even made her believe the fairy tale part.

She looked nothing like a Dark One and she didn't particularly feel like a Dark One, not right now.

"Ready?" her mother asked, holding out her hand to Emma.

The terrible weight she'd been carrying this morning lessened just a little. They were all here. They'd come for her. They'd come for the lost little girl that had spent her whole life thinking no one ever would.

They came for her.

He came for her.

As Emma walked down the hall hand in hand with her mother (with Snow White), she had no doubt that everything would be alright.

This was what her family did: they made things right.

Regina smiled as they approached the grand doors. "You two are up first," she said.

"Where is everyone else?" Emma asked.

Her mom smiled. "Waiting for us to make out grand entrance, of course," she said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Mary Margaret took Emma's face in her hands. "Your father and I are both so proud of you, Emma. Enjoy tonight. You deserve it."

Emma couldn't help smiling in return.

The doors opened and fanfare—actual trumpets—announced their arrival as they descended to the landing. Her mother paused, waiting while their names were announced and Emma managed to follow her lead, but the man could have introduced her as Princess Zelda for all the attention paid to him.

Her world had focused to one point. Killian. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, his thumb hooked into his belt loop, trying for all the world to look casual.

The way he looked at her though was anything but casual, his eyes drank her in making every nerve in her body dance as the page escorted her down the last of the stairs.

"Swan, you look—" he said as he bowed.

Emma grinned. "I know."

He didn't look all that bad himself. Red was a good color for him. She took his arm as they stepped aside to let Robin pass, needing the contact and needing something to keep her from running her hands through his hair. Emma leaned into him, ever so slightly, just glad that he was here holding her hand.

She hadn't thought she would ever see him again. Or at least, that when she did, she wouldn't be someone either of them recognized. Here he was though. He showed up like some miracle right when she needed him most. Like always. Emma didn't know what she would have done if he hadn't showed up to remind her who she was. To remind her what she was capable of.

They can do this. Together. They can figure this out.

She was not alone.

She had her parents. Henry. Regina. And Killian, who had not stopped staring at her like she hung the stars since she gave Merida her heart back.

The music started, but he held her back.

"Not so fast, Swan," he said, his grin lighting up those blue, blue eyes of his and making her knees a little weak.

He took a step closer and it was all she can do not to grab him by the lapels and pull him in for a scorching kiss—like she had wanted to do all day. But there are people here and the kind of kiss she wanted was pretty high on her list of "Things Couples Should Not Do in Public". So she restrained herself.

"Terribly bad form to dance with a princess without asking." His grin widened at Emma's eye roll. He took her hand in his, bowing over it briefly before closing the distance between them, his left arm circling her waist. "May I have this dance, Emma?" he asked, and for just a moment, the real, raw emotions show on his face. Unlike every other time though, there was no fear of rejection.

Only love.

And in that one question Emma heard the same words he whispered to her on the walk to Camelot.

 _I love you, too._

She never wanted to let this go.

He could have this dance and maybe a few more, but those would be after they disappeared to a dark corner for at least a half hour.

"You may."

* * *

 **Okay, I know that a bunch of you are going to jump on me right off the bat and remind me that Killian doesn't say "I love you" to Emma until 5x08 and this is where I tell you that yes, 5x08 is the first time _we_ see Killian say I love you, but I very much doubt that it is the first time he has said it. ****My reasons are thus:**

 **1\. The cute, casual way his says it. He just throws into their conversation like it's a normal thing. Plus, Emma reacts to what he's saying before he even gets all the way through. That big, sappy grin starts well before he says the word "loves", which tells me she knows it's coming, even expecting it possibly.**

 **2\. BIGGEST REASON: In 5x10 when Emma says I love you and Killian is taken aback his line is, "I'm usually the one who has to say it first." The line implies that there has been more than one occasion where Killian has told Emma that he loves her in the six weeks they've been in Camelot and since the events of 5x07, 5x08, and 5x10 all take place in the same day, this means that he has told her that he loves her multiple times that we haven't seen.**

 **3\. This is Killian Jones we're talking about. He is less than 24 hours from Emma's "I love you", he is relieved to have found and to have found her as the Emma he knows, so do you really think he is going to wait six freaking weeks before he says, "I love you, too". No he knows how important hearing that right away would have been for Emma under normal circumstances...even more so now. So my guess is that the first minute he could get her alone, he gave her a sound kiss and made sure that she knew that he reciprocated those feelings (also, please tell me I am not the only one that noticed Emma spends a whole lot of time watching Killian's mouth in 5x02).**

 **And hence, we get Emma's little recollection when he asks if he can have this dance (I know the prompt says "can" but I feel that Killian would go with the more proper phrasing). That's my headcanon and I'm sticking to it.**


	4. You can borrow mine

When they left for their date, the weather had been fine. A little breezy maybe, but still warm. Within normal temperatures for an August evening. Emma hadn't thought to bring a sweater. (Not that Emma had a sweater that matched the pink dress, so even if the thought had crossed her mind, Emma wasn't sure what she would have done. Borrowed from her mom, probably.)

The weather when they left the restaurant was a different story. There was a nip in the breeze. A slight chill. Nothing too noticeable. Nothing that would have bothered her if they had headed straight to her parent's apartment after dinner. But Emma hadn't been ready to return to the crowded apartment just yet, so when Killian suggested a stroll before they ended their date, Emma agreed.

She regretted her lack of foresight now. As it turned out, continued exposure to that "slight" chill made it a noticeable chill. And Emma was not dressed for a noticeable chill. Especially not since their stroll down the street turned into a stroll down the beach, with nothing to shield her from the occasional gust of wind.

"Cold, Swan?"

Emma shrugged. "Nothing I can't handle. I'm already wearing more than the time I chased a bail jumper through downtown Chicago in the middle of winter."

"I'd have liked to see that." Killian grinned.

"I'm sure you would have," she said, rolling her eyes. She held up the shoes she carried—sand and high heels never worked well together. "Six-inch heels and a skin-tight dress that barely covered my ass...Sounds like just the sort of thing you would enjoy."

Killian bit his lip, one eyebrow quirking up. "Most certainly," he said, leaning down to kiss her.

For a few minutes, Emma forgot about being cold. As it turned out, breezy nights weren't much of a bother when you were wrapped in the arms of a pirate with wandering hands—not that Emma's hands didn't do some wandering of their own. Goosebumps of an entirely different kind popped out up and down her arms.

"Thought you didn't pillage and plunder on the first date, Swan," Killian murmured in her ear, making Emma shiver. Before she could think of a good response, another breeze whipped in, making her shiver again. Her pirate sighed. "You know, convincing your parents to trust me will be difficult enough without me you coming down with something, Swan."

"It wasn't exactly cold when we left the apartment," Emma retorted, kind of put out that the kissing had stopped. "I hadn't planned on needing my jacket."

"Well, then," Killian said, kissing her forehead. "You can borrow mine."

"Then you'll be cold."

"But at least I'll be a gentleman," he said, grinning at her as he stepped back and shed his new jacket. He took her shoes in one hand—that was going to take some getting used to—holding the jacket out to her and helping her slide her arms into the sleeves. His fingers brushed across the back of her neck, gently freeing her ponytail from beneath the collar. Killian claimed another quick kiss. "Come on, Swan, we should get you home before you catch your death...Or your father starts to get antsy and comes after me with one of those large muskets."

"A shotgun?"

"Yes, one of those."

* * *

 **Just in case you were also miffed that we missed Killian giving Emma his jacket in 4x04.**


	5. It doesn't bother me

Dawn came early when you couldn't sleep.

Very early.

"You still awake, love?"

"Yeah," Emma replied.

She wished she wasn't. She wished that she could get through a single damn night without dreams ripping her apart inside. She wished Killian wouldn't insist on staying up with her.

Tonight had been worse than usual.

Every time she tried to close her eyes, the nightmare bloomed back into vivid, gruesome color across the backs of her eyelids. She never found out what might happen when if she finally got back to sleep. She reacted automatically, eyes flying open every time. In the end, Emma settled for staring at the ceiling with the Killian's solid warmth to ground her.

She had hoped he at least would get some sleep.

His arm curled around her, pulling her into him as the curtains covering their bedroom windows turned slightly pink.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked, his fingers brushing against her hip, slipping beneath the waistband of her pajama pants to trace the curve of her hipbone.

Emma let her silence answer. She knew what his question would be. Killian wanted to know about her dreams. The words had lingered in his eyes every night for the last week, ever since she unlocked the bathroom door. He wanted to share the burden, like always, she just hadn't been ready to volunteer that information.

She didn't want to think about it, let alone talk about it.

"Have you always had the compass?" he asked, fingers ghosting over the tattoo again.

"What?"

 _That_ was his question?

"You don't have to answer..."

"No," Emma cut in. "It's fine. You told me about all of yours." She ran her fingers across his forearm, not needing to see the most important one to find it. Emma bit her lip. "I got it in New York."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Emma said. "It's funny. I remember my reasons for the buttercup really well." She held her wrist up so they both could see. The stark black lines stood out against her pale skin, even in the darkened room. "I was at a bad house, I wanted something to remind me that things could get better. I spent three days trying to figure out the design before I even tried to find someone who would tattoo a minor."

Killian nodded, pressing his lips to the top of her head and holding her a little closer. "And this one was different?"

Emma thought back, to the day she saw the design in the tattoo shop window while she was chasing down a jumper. The simple, old-fashioned design stopped her in her tracks. She walked away because she did have a job to do, but the next day she came back while Henry was at school. She walked out that afternoon with a small, two-inch design just below the waist of her jeans.

"If you'd asked me why I wanted it then, I wouldn't have been able to tell you," Emma said. Funny, she hadn't really thought about that in a long time. Of course, by the time she got her memories back, six months had passed and they were busy dealing with Zelena. And Emma never was a big fan of introspection.

Killian swallowed. "I take it you know now, then."

Emma nodded. "I think...It reminded me of you." She buried her face in his t-shirt, embarrassed by how utterly sappy that sounded. That despite Regina's memory wipe, Killian had made enough of an impact on her all the way back then that something had slipped past.

Killian sucked in a sharp breath. "A compass. Of course."

"Yeah," Emma breathed.

"Well, I'm relieved that it has nothing to do with that monkey."

Emma bit her lip and decided not to mention that the first time she realized she had no explanation for the tattoo was because Walsh asked her about it. Some things were better left in the past. Like stalker ex-boyfriends.

"You are never going to let me live that down, are you?"

Killian chuckled, the sound rumbling around under her ear. "Never." He kissed the top of her head again. "Do you think you can sleep, love?"

Emma shook her head, just the idea of closing her eyes made her jittery.

There was a pause and Emma thought he might suggest taking the day off, even though yesterday had been their day off, but that would mean explaining to her parents and she really wanted to keep her nightmares between the two of them. She didn't need her parents fussing over them too.

"Quite bad form," Killian said.

Emma blinked. "What is?"

"You have a tattoo to remind you of me, but I've neglected to get one that reminds me of you."

"It doesn't bother me," Emma said. She pressed her hand right above his heart, where the warm thud-thud pulsed beneath her fingers. "You have this. Do you need anything else?"

"No," Killian said.

* * *

In case you were wondering, this little drabble ties in with my two shot "I Would Fight Your Demons" which takes a look at some of the psychological impact season 5 would have on these two. Basically, Emma has panic attack-inducing nightmares of all the things she thought about doing as the Dark One. She manages to play it off during the day mostly, because if there's one thing our girl can do it is compartmentalize, but all the anxiety she shoves aside ends up coming out at night in her dreams. If you want more, go read the story. =D

Another of my drabble/prompts from tumblr.


	6. Come here Let me fix it

Emma never pegged herself as the type to cry at weddings. Not that she'd been to many in her life. But that didn't change the fact that Emma never thought she'd ever cry at any wedding. Least of all her own.

The Father-Daughter dance was what did her in.

The first dance, her dance with Killian, went perfectly. No surprise there. Killian could dance with an elephant with two left feet and it would still be the most graceful thing you'd ever seen. And yet, despite the hours of practice her mother forced upon them, it was the dance with her dad that made her nervous. There were actual people watching now and—despite everyone's reassurances that she was a natural—she knew she would mess something up. With Killian, the whole world disappeared—with her dad, she was painfully aware of everyone's gaze on her, especially his.

"You're doing fine," David whispered when he caught her looking at her feet.

Emma looked up, with a sheepish smile to find her dad was crying. Not anything messy or ugly, just the sheen of water in his eyes and glisening track down one side of his face.

And that's when it hit her.

She was dancing at her wedding. With her dad.

Emma took in a sharp breath, pressure building inside her rib cage.

She remembered being a little girl, seven or eight, and being dragged to a wedding by a foster family. Her foster siblings were all boys and she remembered when the father-daughter dance was announced and her foster father just sat there. It was the first time she realized that no matter what the social workers said, no matter how nice the foster family was, she would never be anyone's daughter.

Except she could see Mary Margaret standing in the crowd, fingertips pressed against her mouth, trying and failing to contain her smile.

She—Emma—the little girl no one had wanted, had parents. Who loved her. And they were here.

"Would it be cliché to say that I've waited for this moment since the day you were born?" David asked, his voice thick and hoarse.

And it didn't matter that for him it has only been three years—she won't that technically she's been waiting longer than he has—all that mattered is that this was her dad and he was looking at her like she hung the stars.

Her life had always been a network of impossible things.

Emma shook her head, voice failing her, though her smile still worked. They both lost the battle against the tears and their dance devolved into something quieter and simpler, her arms around her dad's neck and his around her waist. And it was ridiculous. No one's life had been threatened. No great escapes had been made. She was just so ridiculously happy over the network of impossible things her life had become. They stood there, swaying to the music as the DJ opened the floor to all the other "princesses" and their father. Aware of the predatory nature of wedding photographers—this was exactly the kind of op they slavered over—Emma hid her face against her dad's tux. She really didn't want wedding pictures of her a crying mess.

When the music ended, her running mascara left smudges against the back of her hand, but she still smiled as she and David left the dance floor. The music shifted to something upbeat and Emma recognized the opening bars of the "Cha Cha Slide". Emma blinked, craning her head in the direction she'd last seen her mom. She might not have paid much attention to the order of events, but Mary Margaret had gone over them often enough to recognize that this was drastic change in order.

David's arm slipped from her waist, another distinctly familiar arm taking its place. Speaking of impossible things…

"Hey," she said, forgetting about her running mascara as she smiled up at Killian. "Miss me?"

"Yes, the last five minutes have been excruciating," he said, pulling her close and nosing her hair as he steered her through the crowd and down the hall, opening the door to the single stall restroom and ushering her inside before she even realized what he was doing. Something suggestive sprung to Emma's mind, something questioning his intentions, but she caught sight of her face in the mirror and all her other thoughts derailed. Mascara ran down her cheeks and her eyeliner was so smudged she had darker circles than if she skipped an entire night of sleep.

"Oh my god," she said. "I'm a mess."

"Which is why I've bought us ten minutes," Killian said, stepping up to the sink and grabbing a cotton ball from the little glass container by the faucet. Town hall bathrooms were a fancy affair, apparently. "Now, come here. Let me fix it."

Emma's eyebrows shot up.

"Don't look at me like that, Swan," Killian said, waving her over with such a skillful gesture, she almost forgot that had was a prosthetic. "Do you really want my skill with eye make-up?"

Emma stepped into him, just close enough that she could slide her hands under his jacket and rest them on his waist. Killian hummed appreciatively as he wet the cotton in the sink and applied it to her face.

"Chin up, love."

"You know," Emma said, "we could just slip out while no one is looking."

Gently dabbing at her face, Killian shook his head. "As enticing as that idea sounds, neither of us want this wedding turning into a funeral."

"No, definitely not."

Emma closed her eyes under the cool touch of the cotton. Occasionally, his hand or the tips of his fingers would brush against her cheek, making the butterflies in her stomach dance in anticipation. Gentle dabs beneath her lash line. Delicate swipes to clean up her eyelids. A little more work since he only had soap and water to work with.

"There, now you won't have to hide from the photographer for the bouquet toss," Killian said. "Now which pocket…"

Emma opened her eyes to find him searching through both jacket pockets before pulling out an eyeliner pencil and popping the top off.

"Close your eyes again, love."

"I can—"

"I know," he said, "let me anyway." He leaned in close as her eyes drifted shut again, the scent of him almost overwhelming. The side of his hand a warm crescent against her cheek, Killian traced above her lashes with short, sure strokes, though he hesitated a moment when he got to her other eye, adjusting the position of his hand twice before he felt confident enough to tackle that one.

"I had better not look…"

"If you'll remember, Emma, I was once a straight-laced Navy lieutenant. It took years of experimenting to perfect my trademark devilish handsomeness. Look up, love."

Emma rolled her eyes, but did as he asked. She couldn't help smiling as his breath tickled across her cheek. How many wives could count on their husbands to help them fix their make up? The thought just made her grin wider, earning an exasperated huff from her new husband.

She liked that word.

Killian leaned back, pulling the eyeliner pencil away from her eyes. "Swan, lovely as that smile is, I need you to tone it down for a moment, unless you wish to look like a raccoon for the rest of the evening."

"Grumpy," Emma said.

"Focused," Killian shot back, leaning in to do her other eye. "We have moments before your mother is trying to knock down the door and get us back out there. Besides, if we hide in here, we'll never get to my favorite part."

Killian handed her the pencil to recap, a wicked grin on his face as his now free hand landed on her hip, pulling her into him, white lace shushing against black wool.

"Oh," Emma said, arms sliding behind his neck, "and what would that be?"

"Well, I know you've no interest in such things, but I am quite looking forward to that cake."

"Is that so?" she asked, letting him steal a quick kiss. "Guess we'd better hurry then. Any mascara in those pockets of yours?"

Killian only grumbled a little as he slipped his hand into a pocket and retrieved the black tube. "I'll let you deal this. That bristle-thing at the end looks dangerous."

Emma snorted, tilting forward to get closer to the mirror. Anyone else watching her apply mascara might have been weird, but there was something comfortable about the way Killian stood, arm around her waist, his hip resting against hers. Solid, warm, and one hundred percent hers. Nothing would change really, now that they were married. Their house was still their house. Their lives so intricately sewn together now, it became harder and harder to remember a time when they didn't completely belong to each other.

But something about this felt different. Something about declaring that before everyone changed things.

There was no going back now.

But, then again, there never really had been.

"There," Emma said as she twisted the mascara wand back into the tube. "Done."

"One last thing," Killian said, pulling a short, golden tube that Emma recognized as her lipstick.

Glancing over at the mirror, Emma checked her lipstick. Not even smudged. "I don't…"

"You will in a moment," Killian said, arm snaking behind her.

Emma giggled, lips meeting his a little sloppily, she grinned so wide. "We're married," she whispered against his mouth.

"Aye, that we are."

* * *

 **So I got going on tumblr about my ideal CS wedding scenario. Which involves half a season of build up to the big event with Mary Margaret being all Bridezilla over her daughter's wedding (because, as I said, if she can make this one DAY perfect as part of her feels like it will make up for everything she missed) and Emma, Killian, and David just kind of going along for the ride-because we all know Emma would just be like, "we know te mayor, let's head down to town hall, you two can be witnesses and we'll be done". Anyways, I personally would love just several episodes of random wedding hijinks being worked into the plot. Which would eventually lead to a Big Event at the end of the half and...honestly, I don't even know how we got here. This idea just popped into my head and I was like, "Yes. Yes, that would totally happen." Also part of my "Way to say I Love You" prompt thing.**

 **Enjoy and reviews are always appreciated (provided they aren't rude of course-Here's looking at you "Get your dwarves straight" anon).**


	7. Sweet Dreams

Emma had barely pressed send on the text message, an innocent enough _You awake?,_ when her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with Killian's picture.

She hit answer. "Hey."

"Everything alright, love?"

His voice in the speaker sounded overloud to Emma's ears and she threw a guilty glance to the other side of the bed where her mother finally passed out. Technically, she wasn't breaking any rules. It was 3 in the morning, everyone was asleep. Bachelorette night was officially over. On the other side of the line, she heard the creak of springs and bare feet hitting the floor. She realized she still hadn't answered.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"You're sure?" Killian asked.

"Just missed you," Emma replied, keeping her voice low so she didn't wake her mother.

"Checking up on me, Swan?"

"Just making sure you hadn't been eaten by a dragon…or whatever passes for a bachelor party here in Storybrooke. We're not exactly known for our strip clubs."

"You know that your father and I are far better behaved than that," Killian shot back. "And what about you ladies? Everything went well on your end, I trust."

Emma smiled, he still tried turn the conversation away from him. "Very well," Emma said. "Once I got Ruby to stop asking X-rated questions about what you did with your hook."

"Oh, and what did you tell her?"

"I told her to ask Tink."

There was a long pause on the other line before Killian muttered something about bad form.

"With how she was goading Ruby on? She had it coming." Emma said, smiling at the memory. Ruby's mouth had snapped shut and Tink's eyes went so wide, Emma nearly choked on her drink. She held no ill will against the fairy, whatever she shared in the past with Killian was in the past, but that didn't stop her from feeling a little self-satisfied at surprising ten minutes of silence out of Tink and Ruby. With a chuckle, Emma switched subjects. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

A chuckle rumbled over the line. "It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyways."

"Me neither."

"And you with that large, wonderful, soft bed."

"Yeah, well, it's a little too large at the moment," Emma whispered. She wouldn't admit it, but the bed felt foreign without Killian in it. His voice over the phone helped, her automatic reaction to relax and pull the covers up under her chin. Or try to anyways. "Although, my mom is also a blanket hog. Tell my dad he has my sincerest condolences on that."

"I beg pardon, but if you insist on kicking all the blankets to my side..." Killian stopped suddenly, utter stillness overtaking his side of the phone. After a moment, he sighed. "Sorry, I thought I heard Dave downstairs."

"Downstairs?" Emma bit back a grin. "Killian are you snooping around in my old room?"

"Well, I wasn't sleeping on the floor." He huffed, an extra loud creak of the springs accompanying his clear annoyance. "Really, Swan, I don't see how you put up with this mattress for two years. It's a miracle you got a wink of sleep before I rescued you from this."

"Better than the back seat of the bug," Emma said. "Try the right side. It was a left side sleeper back then."

There was the muffled sound of blankets moving, a pause when the bed frame made a particularly loud squeal, and finally a grunt of approval. Emma grinned at the image in her head: Killian stretched out on her old bed, phone pressed to his ear, head propped on his arm, feet crossed at the ankles.

"Smells like you," he said softly.

"Yeah," Emma said, pressing her nose to the pillow she'd stolen from her mom. "So, did you have fun?"

"Not as much as I would have if you were here now," Killian quipped, the tone of his voice giving her no doubt that the eyebrows were waggling suggestively.

Emma snorted. "Easy, tiger, there'll be plenty of time for that kind of fun tomorrow—huh, I guess it's tonight now, isn't it?" A comfortable silence drifted over the line as they digested that. "We're getting married today," she whispered.

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

Even after everything they had overcome, it still took her breath away. The idea of someone wanting her for life, once such a foreign concept, sat uncomfortably at times—still made her want to hightail it to the other side of the world at times—but with each passing day, the idea fit a little better. She wanted it. She always had, but now she believed in it.

She believed in him.

"So, how many times did you get the overprotective dad speech?"

"Only once," Killian said. "I'm rather impressed by his restraint, even if he is sleeping across the apartment threshold at the present moment."

Emma laughed, a little too loud and clapped her hand over her mouth. Mary Margaret stirred, but didn't wake. After a moment, Emma decided that she hadn't roused any of the occupants downstairs either.

"Is he really?"

"Yes," Killian grumbled. "Or I'd have ditched him long ago. Though, I suppose if Mary Margaret's there with you, it's better that I didn't."

"Honestly, that's probably the reason he's guarding the door. My mother is a force to be reckoned with."

Killian grumbled. "Like mother, like daughter."

"Hey," she hissed. "Switch your places and you'd be twice as bad."

"I suppose I can allow some leeway considering I've made off with their only daughter."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Yeah, something like that," she said. "Though, I might not be the only daughter for long."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," Emma said. "But they aren't telling anyone yet. I only know because Mom had to say something to get Ruby off her back."

Killian snorted. "I'll have to congratulate your father in the morning. Loudly."

"Killian."

"Your father is going to regret how proficient I've become with this device's image capturing capabilities," Killian said with a smirk so broad Emma could hear it. "We have enough blackmail material to last us for the next several decades. Though, I will say this for your father, he holds his liquor far better than I predicted."

Emma sighed. "Well, we can't all have three hundred years to build up a tolerance."

"Not all it's cracked up to be," Killian muttered.

"Oh," Emma said, the upward lift of her voice cracking a little as she tried not to laugh. "Already regretting your wild night?"

"Hardly," Killian scoffed. "Your father on the other hand…"

"You know my mom is going to kill him if he shows up hungover, right?"

"I'll take care of it, love. Don't worry. Though, from what I hear, he is supposed to be keeping me out of trouble."

Emma snorted. "That's too much of a job for anyone."

"You seem to do well enough." Killian sighed. "Think you'll be able to sleep now? I'm sure your mother has made plans far earlier than you like."

"Noon," Emma groaned, looking at the clock again. Technically, that still gave her eight hours or so of sleep. Emma still considered it too early for a Saturday. "But I guess you do need your beauty sleep, don't you?"

"Quite, I'd prefer the only dark circles under my eyes to be the ones I put there."

"Well, then, I'll let you go," Emma said.

"Emma," he said, his voice soft. "I'll have my phone if you need me."

"I'll be fine," she said, swallowing. Whole weeks passed between the nightmares now and they weren't nearly as bad all these months later, unlike the first few weeks after they came back. "My mom can hack if for one night if there's a problem."

"Nevertheless, call me. I think I could manage climbing out the window."

"I think my dad would be the least of your problems if you set eyes on me before the ceremony," she joked.

"Not even you mother's wrath would deter me if you needed me, Emma."

The sincerity in his voice brought tears to Emma's eyes. That he still said things like that, even when he didn't need to, even after she knew the truth of them down to her very bones, never ceased to surprise her.

"Sweet dreams, Killian."

"Oh, they undoubtably will be," he said. "Sweet dreams, Emma."

Emma ended the call, letting the phone sit heavy on her chest for a minute as she basked in the warm, sleepy feeling stealing over her.

"Hey," came her mom's mumbled voice. "You okay?" The covers rustled and a soft hand patted down Emma's arm before slender, cool fingers curled around hers.

"Yeah, I'm good."

Mary Margaret squeezed her hand. "Okay, just making sure." Her mom rolled back over, more of the covers disappearing as she did.

Emma rolled her eyes as she let her phone thunk onto the nightstand. Pressing her face into Killian's pillow, she took a deep breath, clutching it tightly to her. She fell asleep smiling.

* * *

 **This is what happens when you get me talking about a CS wedding. I just become a fluff machine. Lol. Anyways, this little tidbit kind of builds on "I Would Fight Your Demons", giving a little more insight into the aftermath of that story and how it still affects Killian and Emma (if these two don't have major separation anxiety after all this is over, they are made of sterner stuff than I am).**

 **Enjoy! And don't forget to tell me your favorite part! Please and thank you.**


	8. I'll do it for you

Emma found Killian out in the yard, staring at the ocean over broken fence slats. In fresh clothes, the blood all cleaned off, the red-jeweled rings back in his right hand he looked almost normal. He stood, head tilted back, eyes closed, the sea breeze—or what passed for it in the Underworld—ruffling his hair.

"Hey," she said. Limp, dead grass crunch under her boots as she came up next to him. "How are you feeling?"

Killian wrapped his arm around her shoulders without needing to look, pulling her close as he pressed his cheek to the top of her head and inhaled. Emma resisted the urge to cling to him as she leaned carefully into his embrace. She still remembered how shaky and weak he was when they found him. Honestly, she didn't think forgetting that image was possible. All that blood. His smile when she found him was more pleasant to remember, even if it had reopened his busted lip.

"I'd be better," Killian said, "if you weren't using your 'We need to talk voice'."

Of course he would go right for it.

Emma swallowed. "I've been thinking," she said.

"A dangerous pasttime."

She snorted at that, though the reference would be probably lost on him.

"Listen, Emma, if you're having second thoughts..."

"No," she said, her voice harsh and broken. Her throat burned, but she was _not_ going to cry. Not here. Not now. Not with him. Not over this. He would do anything for her. Anything. She didn't want him making this decision for her. "No," she said again, calmer. "But something did occur to me."

"Oh?"

Emma studied his face, trying to memorize the exact shade of blue in his eyes.

"Yeah. It occurred to me that while we were all busy talking over each over and brining you up to speed, there was one important question that never got asked."

Killian smirked a little, his eyes crinkling like he knew what would come next.

Emma was pretty sure he didn't.

"Do you want to come back?" she asked.

Killian's smile fell, his lips parting in shock. His surprise lasted for one heartbeat (one of her heartbeats, his heart remained quiet under her hand), before he began to speak.

"Wait," Emma said, stilling his lips with her fingers. "I don't need an answer right now." Brushing her fingers across his cheek, she cupped his jaw. "Think about it, Killian. If we're going to do this, we both need to be absolutely sure. Okay? I'm not having second thoughts, but if this is it, if you're…ready, then we'll figure out your unfinished business and we'll help you move on."

"You'd do that?" he breathed, tears shining in his eyes.

"I'll do it," she said. "For you."

"Swan..."

"In the morning, okay?" she said. She could see the end of her self-control, felt like she was hurtling toward it. Thirty more seconds and she would breakdown, begging him not to go. Not to leave her. To leave this empty shell behind and come back to their house and their future. Reaching up onto her tip toes, she kissed his cheek and she walked back into the house, hoping the whole way he would grab her, spin her around, and tell her she was insane if she thought he was ever leaving her again. There was a very good chance he thought that right now, but she needed to be sure. Emma needed to know that this was his choice.

The group looked up as she slipped past Robin and into the house.

"He's fine," she said. "Just needed some air." And she hurried up the stairs.

All the rooms here were so bare. Most held nothing but dust and creaking floorboards, the occasional piece of broken down furniture sitting in a corner. Emma hadn't been inspired to do much exploring, she didn't want to taint the real house back in the land of the living. It already held enough bitter memories.

What would have been the master bedroom looked out over the yard, where Killian still stood, running his hand through his hair as he watched the ocean. After a minute, another tall, lanky, dark-haired figure joined him. Henry. Emma smiled, turning away as Killian's laugh echoed up to her. She hadn't warned Henry about the question she just asked. Maybe she should have, but she'd rather him out there joking around with Killian than trying to convince Killian to stay with them.

Someone knocked gently on the open door. "Emma?"

Her mother stood in the hall, concern etched on her face. At Emma's quiet, "Hey," Mary Margaret entered the room, closing the door behind her. She smiled when she saw Emma's boys in the yard.

"He's missed him," Mary Margaret said.

"Yeah, he has."

"It feels like it's been more than a couple of days."

Emma nodded. She was so tired. Leaning against the wall, she slid to the floor, unsurprised when Mary Margaret joined her.

"Oh Emma," her mom said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Emma said.

"Don't lie to me, I'm your mother."

Emma rolled her eyes.

"Well, that's a little better," Mary Margaret said. "I'll take a little attitude over the look on your face when you came inside."

"You're not going to let this go are you?"

"Not easily."

Emma sighed, resting her head against the wall. "I asked him if coming back was what he wanted."

Her mother inhaled sharply. "And he said no?"

"He didn't say anything," Emma said, grabbing her mother's wrist before the woman launched herself out the window and took Killian out from above. "I wouldn't let him. I told him to think about it."

"And you think he'll say no?"

"No," Emma said, rubbing at her forehead. "I don't—I'm almost certain he wants to come back."

Understanding dawned on her mom's face. "But you're not sure." Mary Margaret's covered Emma's.

Emma nodded. "What if I'm wrong?" she said, wiping away a stray tear. Except it wasn't a stray tear, because she had to wipe away another and then another.

Mary Margaret wrapped her arms around Emma, pulling her close again, her embrace even surer than it had been that awful night.

"You aren't wrong," her mom murmured. "You'll see."

# # #

Emma woke, curled up on the floor, the weight of a jacket draped across her shoulder. The pillow underneath her shifted slightly, denim scratching softly against her cheek. Gentle fingers trailed through her hair, before starting again at her scalp. Those fingers were the only reason she didn't bolt upright and race down the stairs. They reminded her that this wasn't a dream.

"It's alright, Emma," Killian said. "I'm here. Go back to sleep."

Emma sat up, smiling as she rubbed at her eyes. "You should probably sleep too."

He shrugged. "I don't think I need to at the moment. Being—" He shot her an apologetic look. "All things considered."

Emma leaned against the wall, her shoulder brushing his as she pulled her knees close and wrapped her arms around them. Killian took the hint, lifting his arm and settling it around her shoulders. She sighed, her hand sliding over the now healed sword wound. This shirt didn't have a huge hole in it and Emma was glad for that. She wasn't quite ready to know if Killian had a scar there. A scar that was all her fault.

"Emma?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "Yeah?"

"I've been thinking."

"Weren't you just warning me about how dangerous that is?"

Killian chuckled, his arm tightening around her as he pressed a kiss to her temple. He ran his fingers up and down her arm, a comforting gesture. She relaxed into him, just a little.

"I know what my unfinished business is," he said, without further preamble. "I've always known."

"Okay," Emma said, the familiar burn returning at the back of her throat. She swallowed it down. His arm withdrew and Emma shifted away, fixing what she hoped was a look of steely determination on her face. "Then let's finish it." She reached for his knee, squeezing it. She had been wrong, but she could do this. They could do this.

"It's a bit more complicated than that."

"Why?"

His eyes met hers, something in them sparking, stealing her breath before he leaned into her, hand cupping the back of her head as he kissed her so thoroughly she nearly forgot the question. There were tears on her cheeks when he broke away too soon for her liking, as always.

"Because," he said finally, his forehead resting against hers. "It's you, Emma." His thumb stroked her cheek, smearing right through a tear track. "It's you. And it's a house with a seaside view and far too many empty rooms. It's the years stretching before us. And teasing Henry about his new girlfriend. It's ordering onion rings so you can steal mine when you run out. It's lazy afternoons on the Jolly Roger, just the three of us. Or baiting your father over family dinner. So unless you plan on staying down here long enough to accomplish all of that, I coming with you."

"You're sure?"

"I refuse to settle for anything less," Killian said.

"I'm so glad I wasn't wrong about you," she said.

Killian laughed outright, it felt defiant, laughing in this land of death. Just like that the last thread of doubt disappeared.

"I'm glad too, love."


	9. I'll Wait

**A/N: Okay...so I know the last chapter was literally this same story with a little different flavor, but funny story: I actually wanted to write the last one with Liam as one of the stakes, but didn't because I didn't feel like I had a good enough handle on 5x15 to do it justice. But now I do, so I'm took the story I wanted to write originally switched it up a little and then took it a little further. So while the situation might seem familiar (and with a dozen different versions of this floating around it** **would anyways), it's not the same. Enjoy. Reviews are always welcome (but please be polite).**

* * *

When he finds her again, the tears are gone. No trace remains, as though they never fell. She doesn't look up as he approaches the low stone divider, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

"Emma…" he begins, running a hand through his hair, unsure whether he can sit next to her. He doesn't want it to be like this, but how else can it be after their last conversation?

Emma scoots over, though there is plenty of room on either side of her, the invitation clear. She seems relaxed as she watches the water. It's still dark, just a tinge of orange in the sky, dusting the furthest waves with gold. What he wouldn't give to be out on the Jolly Roger with her right now, only that sight before him.

Chilled fingers brush against his cheek, her palm like a breath against his skin. A simple joy.

"You look so tired," she says softly, her thumb stroking the creases by his eyes, testament to too many years squinting over the sea on a sunny day.

"Says the woman who for all appearances spent the night in this spot."

"I was…" She pulls her hand away. "I was thinking."

"Swan…"

"I came down here to save you."

"I know, Emma," he says, his throat closing around the words. She keeps having to save him, doesn't she? And always, she has to reach further to find him. Three times he's died and here she sits in the Underworld, her name carved on a headstone—hers and Regina's, he thinks, unable to help wondering what will happen to Henry if they can't figure a way out of this—and he wonders if perhaps it is simply his time. Three centuries is a long time for any man. More than most men expect. Perhaps death simply refuses to leave him alone anymore.

Emma holds up her hand. "Let me finish, please?"

Words still stuck in his throat, Killian nods.

"I came to save you, Killian, and I plan to." She takes a deep breath, sitting a little straighter. "No matter what you decide that looks like."

"Pardon?"

"If going back… with me is what you want, we'll do that," she says. She covers his hand with hers, fingers scratching gently against his skin. "But if moving on with Liam is what you want, I'll make sure that happens. Whatever your unfinished business is, I'll help you." She swallows, a weak smile on her lips. "If it's peace you want, Killian, well, I can't give you that. I'm the savior, I don't think a peaceful life comes with the territory. If you want me to let you go, I will let you go."

How is it the tables have turned so? That Emma can read him so well, while he has the hardest time seeing into her heart. He doesn't know when that happened, sometime after Camelot he supposes. If their places were switched, Killian doesn't know if he could bear up so well, even knowing everything he knows. Yes, perhaps this is best and yet…

"I promised…"

Emma shakes her head. "That I'm not asking you to keep. I'll—" She swallows, the closest thing to emotion she's shown since he found her. "It's okay, Killian, I'll be fine."

"I won't leave until I know you're alright," Killian says. It sounds like his mind is already made up and he hates that, but he's so tired, the words aren't coming out right. He just wants one bloody minute where nothing is life and death, where he can just be. A moment to think.

"You don't have to," Emma says. "It might be better if you don't, actually."

"You're going up against Hades, Emma."

"Exactly," Emma says, "what happens if he does something worse to you? What happens if he finds a way to stop you from crossing over? You have the chance now, with Liam, if you lost that chance…" She shakes her head.

"You make it sound as if you want me to go."

"I want what you want," she says, staring out at the horizon again. She lifts their hands, ducking under his arm as they lean into each other. "You're…different with him. Lighter, younger." Her voice dies, half the thought hanging in the air, unspoken and Killian wishes she would finish it. "He's good for you," she says finally.

"You're good for me too," Killian mumbles, nose pressed to her hair. "I hate this. I hate having to choose between you."

"Then don't," Emma says. "Don't choose between us. Choose what's best for you."

"I still don't feel comfortable leaving you to deal with this alone."

"I won't be," Emma says. "And besides, have you ever seen me fail?"

He laughs. Mind like a steel trap, his Emma. A sadder thought intrudes though, because he has seen her fail, twice. She couldn't save him. It's why he's here. Like she reads his thoughts, Emma squeezes his hand, pressing her soft lips to his cheek and lingering for just a moment before she settles back against him, her head tucked beneath his chin reminding him that she's still saving him. She has been since the day they met. And she's letting him decide what that looks like.

"I will always love you," he says, "no matter what."

Emma remains silent for a moment. "And I'll always love you."

She knows. Killian is glad her attention rests on the horizon, because he wouldn't be able to meet her eyes if she were looking at him. He never intended to let her down, but it still feels like that's exactly what he has done. He meant to be different, but he's leaving her… He has quite literally paved his own road to hell.

"So," she asks, "do you know what your unfinished business is?"

He thinks of everything he did over his too long life. Everything that haunts him and yet, nothing pulls at his heart the way this woman does. Perhaps, if Liam hadn't been here things would be tricky, but with the chance to move on with his brother? Emma is right, this is an opportunity many people get—and he will be making her job easier. One less person to worry about, one less person for Hades to threaten her with, one less soul to get out of this godsforsaken place.

"Will you be happy? Without me…" His throat closes again, because once again, he remembers talk of a future and a house that he knows will never be lived in. A white picket fence that will eventually flake and decay with no one to look after it.

For a moment, Emma just breathes. "I told you, Killian, I'll be fine."

It's not quite the same, but he should know better than anyone, happiness will come around again, if only she will stay open to it.

"I promise," he says, softly, "that someday, you'll be more than fine. Your happy ending is still out there, Emma Swan, you'll find it." _As I have found mine._

# # #

She goes all the way to the edge with him, jaw set in steely determination, her fingers in a death grip around his. Liam looks between them, something soft in his eyes as he smiles at Emma, she nods, returning a small smile of her own.

"I'll give you a moment," Liam says, taking his first few steps across the bridge.

Before Killian can say anything to Emma, Henry hugs him from his other side. "Bye, Killian," the lad says, voice muffled. When had the boy gotten so bloody tall, Killian wonders as he holds Henry close one last time. They will be okay. Emma was right, he has yet to see her fail. Hades has no idea what's coming for him, as clueless Killian was those few years ago.

Emma takes his other arm as Henry backs away, nearly stepping on his toes. "Well, I guess this is it," she says calmly.

"Aye," Killian says, his eyes never leaving her face. He memorizes her, this face that he will take with him into the afterlife. He will never forget her. _I'll wait_ , he thinks, _I'll wait for you Emma Swan. Just you wait, the decades will pass quicker than you think_. But he won't say it out loud. He doesn't want her to spend her life alone, wants her to move on without guilt. She deserves that. She deserves everything they wanted together, even if it can't be with him. Killian swallows.

"I love you," he says, because these are his last words to her and he never wants her to doubt that. One last time, he puts his lips to hers, kissing her gently, wanting but knowing he cannot take more.

"I know," she whispers.

Killian hopes he never forgets this either, the way her words ghost across his skin, even if they sting a little. He can't blame her for not saying the words back, not when he is asking her to let go. After all, she's here, with him, she saved him one last time. He doesn't need words. He knows.

Emma stands still as a stone as Killian pulls away, not turning away from her until cool air is the only thing around his fingers. His hand feels empty. Liam's arm comes around Killian as he walks away from the ragtag family that came for him like he was one of their own. He will forever be grateful to them, to Emma most of all, but to all of them for coming here.

She still stands there when he looks back one last time, the light only feet in front of him. Emma meets his gaze, her green eyes clear. She nods, that same flitting smile on her face, her hand clutched around the ring he hadn't thought to reclaim. Tall and proud, his Emma, the strongest woman he has ever known. No tears this time, no cracking, crumbling voice to haunt his last moment with her. No, he won't be the one to give her the future they wanted, but she will find someone else.

He'll still wait for her.

"We're almost there, Killian," Liam says, his voice trailing off as his gaze follows Killian's.

"I don't think I can cross over," Killian says softly. "And even if I could…" Killian takes a deep breath. "Liam, she is my unfinished business. Can't you feel it?" Grasping his brother's shoulder, he says, "I'm sorry. I wish…" He shakes his head. "If I follow you, I'll spend decades waiting for her. I love you, Liam, truly, but I love her too, and…" He falters, searching words to express that his love for Emma doesn't mean he loves Liam less.

"You see a future with her."

"I do."

Liam sighs. "This is what will make you happy?"

"Aye."

"Then, brother, why wait for her when you can be with her?"

Swallowing back tears, Killian throws his arms around his brother's shoulders. "Thank you. For understanding."

"Oh, don't get all weepy on me yet," Liam jokes. "The light will still be there in five minutes, there's time for me to make she'll take proper care of you."

"You'll do no such thing," Killian says, half over his shoulder because he needs to get back to Emma now.

His eyes meet hers as he hurries back across, the shock on her face evident and he curses himself for fool. He sees the cracks in her careful façade, the walls were never gone. They stand high and tall, lending her the strength to do what she thought he wanted. And despite the the narrowness of the bridge, Killian breaks into a run, because the distance closes too slowly.

He made a promise and he intends to keep it.

"What's wrong," she asks, running out to meet him. "Why didn't it work?"

Killian slows, but doesn't stop, arms circling her waist, lifting her so her toes are on his as he takes the last few steps. Emma does not belong on this narrow bridge with the fires of hell beneath burning beneath her. And neither does he.

"You don't want me to go."

"I—" Emma gapes, hurt and confusion flashing across her face. "I want what you want, Killian."

"I want the truth, Swan, not what you think I need to hear," he says, "because unless you tell me right now that you want me gone, we're in this together. Now," he says, smiling reassuringly, "for my ego's sake, remind me again why you want me to stay."

Emma gasps, a strange hiccupping sound as she tries to control the emotions warring across her face. "Without you, I don't get my happy ending," she whispers, like it's her darkest secret.

"Oh, Emma," he breathes. "Why didn't you mention that before?"

"I'm the savior. Getting people their happy endings is kind of my job—" Emma shrugs and through the cracks in her wall, her lost girl eyes shine with unshed tears. "I want you to have yours, even if doesn't include me anymore."

The words are not what Killian expects and they are like a blow to his gut. He thought he knew the depths of this beautiful, insane, amazing woman's love for him. He was wrong. Yet again, she surprises him with just how much she loves him. He hears what she's not saying, words that have haunted him since a night on a New York rooftop. _What I wanted isn't in the cards for the savior._

He hears the conclusion she made when she let him go. The savior doesn't get a happy ending.

Well, if he had any bloody say about it, he was spending the rest of his life proving that conclusion wrong.

"Alive or dead, my happy ending will always be you, Emma Swan."

The walls crash down.

Her face crumples, as shaking hands reach for him, tears streaming from her eyes as she hides her face against his jacket Killian buries his nose in that glorious, golden hair as she shakes in his arms. He doesn't try to stop her tears, only holds her tighter and sheds a few of his own.

"Turns out, I'm not very good at letting you go either," he whispers.

Emma laughs, the sound so muffled only Killian hears, but it still makes his heart swell in way that almost feels like beating. It will be soon, if the woman in his arms has any say in the matter. When she lifts her eyes to his, the whole world falls away, as it has done countless times before. Tear tracks mar her beautiful face, her eyes are red with exhaustion and sadness and it kills him all over again that it is all for him. He wants to say that he is sorry, for not realizing sooner, for putting her though this, for making this seem like a test. He kisses her instead, and really, kissing Emma Swan is much better than talking, but that doesn't stop him from trying to pour every ounce of apology into the kiss he can. It takes only a moment for him to realize she does the same, but instead of an apology he tastes something different on her lips. Joy.

Minutes pass before someone clears their throat.

"I'm glad you're enjoying this, brother, but the rest of us are not."

Killian jerks back, not far, Emma's fingers grip his jacket like she's afraid he'll float away. He thought—but Liam is right behind him, tears coursing down his cheeks.

"Liam? Why…"

Liam wipes the tears from his cheek, a wry smile on his face. "It's alright, lad, they've stopped. It's safe to look now."

Henry sighs. "Thanks, Uncle Liam."

Killian smiles at the shock on his brother's face. Liam can't possibly know the boy's craving for family—nothing else explains Henry's willingness to call the Crocodile 'Grandpa'—but Killian is well acquainted with it. His heart aches that this is probably the first and last time he'll ever hear those two words together.

Henry levels an exasperated look at Killian and Emma, bringing to mind his other grandfather.

Killian winks. "Apologies, Henry, we got lost in the moment."

"You're really staying," Henry says and the look in the lad's eyes reminds Killian too much of Emma.

"Aye," he says, solemn once more.

"Good," Henry says, his voice cracking as he squeezes in next to Emma, his head even with his mother's as he envelops them both. Her arm comes around the boy and the three of them stand for a moment, the room quiet except for Henry's soft snuffles.

Killian was a fool to think he could ever walk away from this—his family.

Emma pulls away first, a hand brushing the tears on Henry's cheek, the smile on her face dazzling—certainly rivaling the light still shining brightly across the bridge. Shining brighter, in Killian's opinion.

And, oh, when she looks at him with happiness lighting up her eyes, Killian knows he made the right decision. No matter what lies ahead of them, whatever troubles they face, he can weather them all as long as he has Emma to keep him steady. Hope is contraband, Hades said. Killian grins down at Emma. Who better to help distribute contraband about than a pirate?

"It would seem I misjudged you, Emma," Liam says, his voice thick.

Emma only shrugs. "I'm used to it."

"Regardless, not many people are as lucky as my little—"

"Younger."

"—brother."

Rolling his eyes, Liam offers Emma his hand, but Emma, bless her, holds her arms out. The surprise on his brother's face lasts only a moment before he nods and steps into Emma's embrace. Killian watches them, happiness mingled with the regret that this is all they will get, that Liam cannot return with them. He knows better.

"Take care of him for me," Liam says.

"I'll do my best."

Liam snorts. "I suppose that's all you can do with someone as troublesome as Killian."

Emma laughs. "I think I know where he learned it from."

"Thank you, Emma," Liam says, letting her go and turning to Killian.

"Liam…"

"I know," Liam says. "I wish that too."

They embrace again, long moments passing and for a moment, Killian feels like if he can just hold on tightly enough he can bring Liam back with him. He'd fight, if Liam asked him to, he'd fight until every last option was gone. But Liam is ready and Killian won't deny him the rest that he wanted to badly for himself only moments before.

"I love you, little brother."

Killian slaps his back, but can't find the voice to correct him.

Liam takes a step back, staring hard at Killian. "I'll wait for you." His eyes slide to Emma. "For both of you, if you have a mind. Come find me when your time is up."

Emma steps up beside Killian, her hand slipping into his as she watches Liam with sad eyes. "We'll find you," she says. "We'll look for you when the time comes."

Killian nods. "I love you too, big brother."

Liam takes a step back, giving Killian one last smile.

Killian tries to crush Emma's hand as Liam turns and walks across the bridge again. Her hand tight around his lends him strength to watch his brother's retreating back. The details blur, edged out by the brightness of the light, blending Liam into a dark shadow. A shadow that pauses and waves before it disappears completely and the cave plunges back into darkness.

Emma's arms are around him again, supporting him as much as she did when they found him. She anchors him, the only thing keeping him from being blown away in the storm of losing Liam for a second time. Behind them, the others exchange soft whispers before leaving the cave.

She stays with him until long after the tears dry, not a word passing her lips.

"Will you be okay?" she asks finally.

"Yes," Killian says, "I just—need another moment. You can go if you like, I'll be right there."

"Do you want me to go?"

He shakes his head.

"Then I'll wait."

"Thank you." He sighs, wrapping his arms around her yet again, the hint of cinnamon on her skin flooding his senses.

"I love you, too."

"I know.


	10. Say Goodbye

The first week after he came back, Killian chocked it up to the general mess left by Hades and the lad's New York City adventure.

Three weeks passed and Killian still hadn't seen much of Henry, but then they had been busy. Homework piled up, even when you were in the Underworld and Killian had been rather…preoccupied with making the most of his second chance with Emma.

But by the fifth week, Killian was rather certain that Henry was avoiding him. No, not rather. Completely certain. Henry turning down sailing in favor of school work for the third weekend in a row fairly cinched the matter. Killian thought it might be jealousy. Things had shifted, his moving in with Emma changed things. Regina was still dealing with her grief. Henry was feeling neglected and getting angry at Killian was easier than getting angry at his mothers.

Though, insight didn't help Killian solve the problem of the sullen teenager currently pouting on his deck. As it turned out, Emma didn't cotton to teenagers sulking at the kitchen table all weekend long and had frog-marched the lad out the docks, telling him he could come back when Killian decided he'd gotten enough fresh air.

"You know," Killian said, leaning on the railing next to Henry. "We haven't gotten much time to talk since...I came back."

"Nope," Henry said without even looking at Killian.

"How are things with that pretty lass? Violet, right?"

"Fine." Henry rocked back on his heels, shoving his hands in his pockets. His shaggy, dark hair fell in his eyes, obscuring his true emotions as he stared at the freshly painted railing.

"Hmm," Killian said. He almost reminded the boy that Regina was back on land and anything the lad said would stay between them, but teasing didn't seem to fit Henry's mood just now. There would be time to make the lad blush later, after he'd gotten to the bottom of whatever was bothering Henry.

And if Henry was anything like his mother, prying at the matter in question wasn't the most effective method.

Time to switch tacks.

"So what's on the plate when we get back?" Killian asked. "Anything I can help with in those school books of yours? I'm quite good at math, you know."

Henry's lips pursed together in an expression that was very like his other mother. His eyes flashed as he finally lifted his head, glaring at Killian. "My mom's already your true love, Hook, you don't have to suck up to me anymore." He spun on his heel. "Can we go back now? I have stuff to do."

Suddenly, Killian felt an infinite sympathy for Emma and Regina's frustration with teenage mood swings.

"Hold on, lad," Killian said, grabbing Henry's shoulder and turning him back around. "That's hardly fair. I rather enjoy spending time with you. You're important to..."

Henry wrenched away from Killian, leaving him clutching only empty air.

"Oh, so now I'm important to you?" he sneered. Rage boiled off the boy, from the teeth-grinding clench of his jaw to the set of his shoulders to the stance he took, as though he were throwing punches instead of words.

"Yes," Killian said. "Why would you think otherwise?"

A long moment passed, filled with nothing but the creaking of Killian's ship and the calls of the birds circling overhead. Henry caved, kicking at the deck with his toe as he dropped his gaze. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the muscles in his neck working as he swallowed.

"You didn't say good-bye," he whispered. He looked up, anger still in his eyes, but there were tears now too.

For a moment, Killian was at a complete loss. He and the lad had parted ways dozens of times in the last five weeks, how was he supposed to know which of those times the lad was referring to? The more Killian thought about it the less sense it made. Henry wasn't the type to get all twisted over something as mundane as a farewell, it wasn't as if...

Bloody. Hell.

Now that he was talking, Henry seemed ready to divulge all, for he kept rambling.

"I mean, I wasn't expecting a mushy, teary good-bye like my mom probably got, but I thought—I thought you cared about me too and then...you don't even come up..." He scrubbed at his cheek, looking angry that his eyes had betrayed him and let the tears slip. Finally he gave up, sniffling. "Do you know what it's like? To—to care about someone and believe you can count on them and then..." His voice broke, his words choked by the tears. "And then to realize that they don't even care enough to say good-bye?" And then, because that wasn't bad enough, the lad added, "We were supposed to be a family. You were supposed to be my dad."

Hand and hook landed on the boys shoulders, waiting the briefest moment for the boy to pull away before Killian drew him close, wishing he had more than words and actions to show Henry that he was willing to his life down to protect the boy.

"And I still mean to be." He swallowed, ignoring the weight those words held. Somehow, it hadn't yet dawned on Killian that he would play a far more influential role in Henry's life than the lad's own father had. Being a part of the lad's life was a given, but to fill the shoes that should have been Baelfire's, there was a gravity to that.

Henry, with all his awkward angles, didn't quite fit in Killian's arms as well as Emma did. He clutched the back of Killian's jacket, head bent to Killian's shoulder as he fought with his emotions. Killian chose to remain silent. This wasn't a moment for words, Henry had no fears to soothe away with the quiet murmurs. He had a wound that had been reopened. He didn't need to calm down, he wanted to be held together. So Killian waited until Henry stepped back, wiping a very red nose on his sleeve. Killian fished his handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to the boy, trying not to smile at how like Emma Henry was at times. Surreptitiously, Killian brushed away the tears on his own cheeks.

"Henry, I'm sorry, I never meant..." Killian shook his head. It didn't matter what he meant, what mattered was what happened. Clapping his hand on Henry's shoulder again, he ducked—less than he expected—down to meet the boy's eyes. "Staying behind was the most painful thing I have ever had to do, and not just because of your mother. I thought I had lost everything, including you, even if my actions at the time left you in doubt. I promise never to make that mistake again."

Henry snorted. "You'd better not. I'm pretty sure Mom would make a vengeful god look like a kitten if you got yourself killed again."

"Good thing I've no intention of letting that happen then," Killian said, grinning as he slung his arm around the lad's shoulders. He paused, taking a deep breath. There was no going back from this, but then there never had been, had there? Henry had wormed his way into Killian's heart just as surely as Emma had. "Just so we're clear, lad, I couldn't love you more if you were my own flesh and blood."

A slow smile spread over the boy's face. "I, um, I love you too, Killian."

Killian squeezed Henry's shoulder, refusing to dissolve into a blubbering mess all over again.

"Now, are you still intent on finishing that homework?" Killian asked.

"Gods, no," Henry said.

"Well, then, pick a point on the horizon," Killian said with a grin. The steps creaked beneath their feet as they climbed back up to the quarterdeck.

Henry squinted against the sun bright blue, his eyes scanning the long low line as he stepped up to the wheel. His face scrunched up in concentration.

"There," Henry said, pointing.

Killian gestured to the wheel, allowing Henry to take the helm. The boy glanced at Killian for confirmation before he spun the wheel. A stiff gust came up, pressing their clothes tight to their backs and filling the sails, the canvas snapping loudly.

"Hey, Killian…"

"Aye?"

"You're a pretty great dad."

Killian swallowed, deciding that the sun was rather bright against the sea today.

* * *

 **I know. I know. I know why they didn't have long drawn out good-bye and I totally get why Killian wanted that, but at the same time, you've gotta wonder how it felt for everyone else who cared about him. Especially Henry, who has already lost his real dad and...in the end is about to lose another father figure for good. Anyways, if there was one person besides Emma who deserved a good-bye from Killian, it was Henry. I've always seen him as being closer to Killian than to Robin, for various reasons. Anyways, hope you enjoyed it.**

 **Reviews are love!**


	11. Safe and Sound For You

Emma doesn't even take a proper breath before prying her hand from Killian's, arms shaking as she reaches toward the activity at her feet.

"Let me—" She gasps, though it's hard to tell if it's from pain or exhaustion or simply that she ran out of air. "Let me hold her." Her voice breaks on a barely restrained sob.

A sharp, piercing cry floods the room and Killian's heart swells, shattering to pieces as it runs out of room for the emotions coursing through him when he gets his first good look at their daughter. The nurse approaches them, one hand supporting the squalling infant's head and neck and her other hand grasping her bottom firmly, despite the way the babe squirms and kicks.

"You've got a feisty one," the woman says, handing the baby to Emma.

"Oh," Emma sighs. "Look at you." She cradles Siobhan, caressing the tiny, pink fingers before moving to the tiny feet and toes. Leaning closer, she kisses the babe's wrinkled brow and the cries fade to whimpers. "No one will ever take you away from me." Her voice is hoarse and ragged and a sob wracks her body. "I promise."

Breathe caught in his throat, Killian leans in, unsure how he survives the beauty before him. After so many months of waiting and wanting and worrying, she is finally here and he never wants to take his eyes off her. She is the tiniest, daintiest thing he has ever seen. If he had two hands, she would barely be big enough to fit in both. His calloused fingers seem too coarse for her fresh, pink skin.

Without looking up, Emma reaches back with her free hand and he knows what she wants. His fingers slide between hers and she squeezes tightly, her head falling back to rest against his arm. They are content staring at Siobhan with her cheek squashed up against Emma's chest, her tiny nails scratching against her mother's bare skin as her little hand opens and closes. Sweat and tears glisten on Emma's face, the latter tracking down her cheeks to fall on their daughter's round belly.

"Never, ever," she promises again. Despite the impracticality of such a promise, her hold on Siobhan tightens a little, as though she can make the babe a part of her again.

The nurse comes back, shifting. "We should—"

Killian waves her off, knowing full well why the nurse wants the babe—there isn't a book in Storybrooke on infants or childbirth that he hasn't read—it can wait a few more minutes.

Emma relaxes as the woman backs off. She kisses Siobhan again, resting her nose against the infant's cheek, smiling.

Gently, carefully, he brushes his thumb over the tiny toes.

"Have you ever seen anything so perfect?" Emma murmurs.

He can't speak around the lump in his throat, so he shakes his head.

The nurse returns, hovering. "It'll just be for a few minutes," she says softly. "Just to make sure everything's alright."

He swears sparks fly when his wife looks up at the nurse. Her nostrils flare, old demons rising to wage war in her eyes and he knows the last thing she wants is to surrender this baby to a stranger, no matter how short the separation will be.

"Here, love," he says, circling his thumb over the dips and curves of her shoulder. He smiles a little as she melts into him. "Why don't you let me have her so they can take care of you?" He's surprised he can get the words around the fear. The idea of holding this fragile creature suddenly terrifies him. At the same time, it is the only thing he wants.

"Oh, yeah." She gives him a drained smile, gently situating Siobhan in the crook of his arm and giving his hand another quick squeeze as she brings it around to tuck under the babe's head.

He can count on one hand the number of times the rest of the world has ceased to exist. Once in a crowded tavern when a chance meeting and a pair of blue eyes changed the course of his life. Once inside of Granny's when a pair of green eyes convinced him that soulmates did exist and the course of his life changed yet again. Once standing at the edge of a still pond as pain drove away everything but the face in front of him. Once staring into the depths of hell as a fiery pit turned to calm blue waters. Once laying in the dirt as he realized that _he_ was his true love's true love.

And now it seems he will have to start counting on his toes.

"Breathe, Killian," Emma says, a teasing edge in her tired voice, "it's just a baby."

He swallows, blinking back the tears. "Aye, but she's ours."

Emma's fingers caress the wispy, colorless strands on the infant's head before moving to trace the line of his jaw, drawing him in for a soft kiss.

"Yeah, she is." Her thumb brushes a tear away. "Don't worry. Crying pirate with a baby, definitely cool. Won't hurt your cred at all."

Killian snorts. "I recognize that one."

"Henry would be very disappointed if you didn't." She presses her lips to his cheek. "Just make sure none of them turn into flying monkeys, okay?"

"She won't leave my sight, I promise." He kisses her temple. "I love you."

He holds onto Siobhan the entire ten feet between the hospital bed and the little station where Whale waits with the nurses. Now that he has her, he doesn't want to let her go. A physical ache pulses through him as they take her from his arms and place her under the glaring light.

Siobhan protests to all of it, her displeasure ringing in the small room despite the nurses' efforts to comfort her.

"Well, at least we know her lungs work," Whale jokes, pressing his stethoscope to Siobhan's tiny chest. If anything, the infant squalls louder.

At last, when she has been weighed and measured and given a full bill of health, the nurse scoops her up.

"There you go, Dad," she says, settling the babe in Killian's arms again.

For one frightening instant he fears she'll cry all the way back to Emma, but no sooner is she curled against his chest again, than she quiets, tiny fingers finding purchase on a button. He adjusts the little blanket, tucking it around her before cupping her head again, unable to resist the urge to stroke her cheek with his thumb.

She owns him already, as thoroughly as her mother does.

"I will never, ever leave you," he says, pressing his lips to the fine fuzz covering her head. "You have my word, Siobhan."

She stares up at him with Emma's eyes.

# # #

Emma had forgotten how much peeing hurt after having a baby.

Especially now that her body is starting recognize all of the trauma it's been through. Thankfully, now she is older and wiser and devoid to the adolescent stubbornness that refused to acknowledge she had had a baby in the first place.

She leaves the bathroom, retying the strings on her hospital gown and wishing she had the energy for a real shower. But all she wants is to go back to sleep.

"Have you been holding her the entire time I was out?" she asks when she spies the scene greeting her.

"Aye." Killian looks up from his seat on the edge of her bed, one eyebrow quirked. "Was that the shower I heard?"

"Don't ask."

Killian, wisely, obeys. "Here, let me help you," he says when she starts to climb back into the bed. The slight moment of reluctance before he places Siobhan in the bassinet is almost comical—Emma doesn't think the baby has spent more than five minutes outside the protection of one of their embraces in her entire short life—but he does, placing a featherlight kiss on her forehead before turning to help Emma back into the bed.

Suddenly, she finds herself wide awake. "Okay, my turn. Hand over the booty, pirate."

Killian's eyes roll to the ceiling for a moment before he scoops Siobhan up without hesitation, hand supporting her head, forearm sliding beneath her little butt as he lifts her and cradles her to his chest before surrendering her to Emma.

"Look at you," she says, beaming at him, "you're a natural. All that worry for nothing." She adjusts Siobhan, letting the infant sprawl across her chest with a soft little sigh. One hand against the baby's back, she holds the other out to her husband.

Killian takes her hand, raising it to his lips. "You're amazing."

"I know."

"How do you feel, love?"

"Tired. Sore. Better now that my bladder isn't threatening to explode. Basically, like I had a baby, um…" She tries to get a look at the clock, but she can't turn far enough without dislodging Siobhan and she's been around her younger siblings enough to know what happens when she wakes Siobhan up. Though she'll probably be waking up soon anyways. "What time is it?"

"Nearly half five," Killian says.

"Look at that," Emma whispers, lips right at Siobhan's ear. "You're four hours old."

"Four hours seven minutes," Killian supplies without much thought.

She laughs. "Have you heard from my parents?"

"At this hour?"

"You have met my mother, right?"

He chuckles. "Yes. She sent an effusive text around two with congratulations and a promise to stop in at a more reasonable hour."

"You hear that?" Emma asks, eying her daughter. "Grandma thinks you're unreasonable." She sighs. "I kind of agree with her." She rubs the infant's back as Siobhan squirms again, her soft baby breath puffing against Emma's skin, her little ribs pressing into Emma's chest with every inhale.

"I think we both know David is the only reason she's not asleep in that chair right now," Killian says with a nod to an uncomfortable looking chair in the corner.

"And Eva. Bless them for that," Emma says. She loves her mother, but she is also loving this quiet moment with just the three of them. "Speaking of sleep, you should probably head home and get some soon. If you want to go see about getting me some ibuprofen before this one gets hungry, I think we can manage for a few hours."

Killian shakes his head emphatically. "I'll go see about the ibuprofen, but I'm not leaving this place until you do."

"You have to sleep sometime."

"I've had far worse berths than that reclining contraption." He nods at the green, vinyl chair camped by the hospital bed.

Emma rolls her eyes. "Have it your way." And she waves a hand, changing the chair to something a little more comfortable looking and fetching blankets and a pillow.

"Swan," he chides.

She shrugs. "It barely takes anything anymore. Now, painkillers, I'd like to give them some time to kick in before she's hungry."

Killian nods, squeezing her hand once more before slipping out the door to find a nurse.

# # #

"Well, what do you think?" Emma asks.

"She's alright, I guess," Henry replies, "but I still don't see why people get so excited over babies."

Emma laughs softly, reluctant to wake either of the sleeping beauties in the room. She ruffles his hair.

"Good, because you aren't even allowed to think about making babies until you're thirty."

Henry glares at her. "Mom."

Siobhan shifts in her sleep, her little arm popping out of the blanket and almost smacking her big brother in the face. Henry jerks his head back, then freezes, waiting to see if he woke the baby in his arms. She gurgles a little, but getting passed between Grandma and Grandpa and meeting her aunt and uncle must have tuckered her out, because she stays asleep.

"Careful with that, kid," Emma says, grabbing her fist and kissing it. The little fingers wrap around hers instinctively. "Bad juju if you give Big Bro a bloody nose on day one."

Henry laughs. "She can try."

"Watch out, if she's anything like me, she might take you up on that." Gently, Emma pries away Siobhan's grip, transferring it to Henry. "I think she likes you," she says when the baby latches on tightly, pressing five small dimples into his skin.

"She's so small," Henry says, finally getting caught up in the baby hysteria that has overwhelmed the rest of his family.

Snow hadn't wanted to put Siobhan down, only relinquishing her when Eva's jealous demands for Mama could no longer be ignored. David had been nearly as teary as Killian looking down at his granddaughter for the first time. Neal had watched, perched at the foot of Emma's bed, as mesmerized with his niece as he had been with his sister. Even Regina thawed when Emma insisted she take a turn with the baby, holding the infant with a tenderness that gave Emma insight into what Henry's early years must have been like. Eventually though, it was time for Eva's second nap, so her parents departed with the promise of bringing dinner later. And mayoral duties called, so Regina departed with a kiss to Henry's cheek, telling him to take his time getting to know his sister.

"Was I this small?" he asks.

White hot guilt flares in her gut. "I don't know," she says softly. "I was too scared."

"Oh."

She swallows, fighting back tears. They missed this. She missed this and she hates herself a little for it.

"Henry, I'm sorry," she says. "I wish…"

"It's okay," Henry says, looking up at her. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad you did."

"Okay…" Emma studies him, face scrunched as she tries to decipher what he could possibly me. "Okay, you're going to have to explain that one."

"Well," he says, "if you kept me, it would have been just like New York and New York was great and all, but we would have been apart from our family. If I never came to Storybrooke, I never would have brought you back to our family." He smiles down at his sister. "And our family is perfect just the way it is."

Hand to his cheek, Emma leans forward to hug him, pressing her lips to his hair. "I have always loved you, kid. You know that right?"

"Yeah, Mom, I know."

"Good."

Henry glances over at Killian, who is snoring softly, his head thrown back against the wall. He sat down to talk with David and eventually fell asleep while David was occupied with Siobhan. The position doesn't look comfortable and Emma knows he'll complain about the crick in his neck later.

"Mom, do you think…" Henry trails off, his cheeks going bright pink. He fusses with the baby, pulling her blanket up under her chin and fiddling with the socked foot that peeks out as a result.

Emma waits patiently.

He clears his throat, throwing another glance over at Killian. "Do you think he'd mind in I called him 'Dad', even though he has his own kid now?"

"Oh, Henry." Emma brushes the hair back from her son's face, still amazed at how she can love this many people this much. Amazed at how many people she has to love. And eternally grateful for the way they care about each other. "He loves you. As far as he's concerned, you are his kid."

Henry nods. "Okay."

A soft snore breaks the moment and Killian shakes himself awake, blinking surprisedly at the light. "Where…Where'd the rest go?"

"Home," Emma says.

"Bloody hell," he says, rubbing at his neck. "Why didn't someone wake me?"

"Well, if someone would put the baby down and take a nap, maybe he wouldn't fall asleep mid-conversation."

He sighs, coming over to stare dreamily down at their family. "Well, Henry, what do you think of your little sister?"

It's moments like these that she remembers why she fell for him. It wasn't the swagger. Or the attitude. Or even the good looks (though those certainly did not hurt matters). It was this softness, the way his eyes take in both of her children with the same care. It was the heart he only dared let her glimpse at first. The unguarded moments that finally convinced her that with him, her own heart was safe.

"She's awfully quiet," Henry says.

Killian harrumphs. "Just wait until she's awake and angry. You should have heard her, our lass is not a fan of Dr. Whale."

"Is anyone?" Henry asks.

They all laugh.

"I should get going." Henry says, reluctantly handing Siobhan over to Emma. "My teachers didn't think a baby sister was a good enough excuse to get out of home work."

"Good for them," Emma says. "I would have made you do it anyways."

Henry gives her a look of exasperation that only a teenager could manage. He slides off the bed, his finger tracing his sister's cheek one last time.

"Bye, Siobhan." He leans in, kissing Emma's cheek. "Bye, Mom."

When Henry turns, Killian is there, pulling him in for a hug. Henry accepts it without attitude or eye rolling, a rare occasion these days.

"Your grandparents are coming later with Granny's for dinner," Killian tells him. "You're welcome to come with them…provided your homework is done."

"Can I come anyways if I need help with help with geometry?" Henry asks. He shudders a little, as though geometry is a dirty word.

Killian chuckles, clapping him on the shoulder. "Aye, I suppose that's acceptable."

"Okay." Henry glances sidelong at Emma, mischief in his eyes. "Bye, Dad." He scoops up his backpack and races out the door.

Smiling softly, Killian leans against the bed, his hand finding her knee. He sighs.

Their room is quiet for the first time in at least an hour, and even though Emma knows there will be a nurse in another fifteen minutes and the baby's going to wake up want fed soon, for this moment at least everything settles and it's just them and their daughter and it is perfect. In this moment, her life is perfect.

"How long were you listening?" She shifts the baby, tracing her fingers over the back of his hand until he turns it over and captures hers in his.

"Long enough," he says, a brittle edge to his voice. He clears his throat. "If I had been half that wise at his age, my life would have been very different." His thumb strokes over Emma's knuckles as he smiles softly down at Siobhan. "Not, I'll add, that I am disappointed with where my life has led me, but I would have saved myself quite a bit of needless pain."

Siobhan makes a little squeak, captivating them both as she stretches, her other arm coming out from under the blanket. She tucks both tiny fists under her chin, turning so her cheek is pressed against Emma's chest.

"I think our family is quite perfect too," Killian whispers, leaning in until his forehead rests against Emma's.

The mattress crackles a little as Emma shifts, tugging on his hand until they are both crowded on the narrow hospital bed, Siobhan circled in both of their embraces. With a sigh, she presses her cheek into his shoulder.

"I love you," she says softly.

Killian laughs. "I should hope so."

"Do you think we could sneak a nap in before she wakes up?" Emma asks, despite the fact that she's barely moved since her mother whirled into the room, she finds she's exhausted.

He hums thoughtfully. "I was thinking we could do it in shifts. One of us sleeps and the other holds the baby."

"Or we could put her in that little be right there," Emma jerks her chin toward the bassinet sitting right next to the bed, "and you could hold me."

He laughs again, something felt more than heard. "If the lady insists." He unwraps himself from Emma, feet hitting the floor in one smooth motion. With great care, he tucks adjusts Siobhan's blanket more tightly around her before lifting her from Emma's arms. They both hold their breaths as he deposits her in the bassinet, waiting to see if she will stay asleep. She sighs, arms relaxing and spreading to rest on either side of her head.

Killian takes a moment to toe off his boots before climbing back in with Emma and wrapping his arms around her, forearm running soothingly up and down her arm until the rest of the world fades and she too is asleep.

* * *

 **So...if you're curious about my choice of name, I would recommend checking out A Name is Forever" where I kind of go into why they chose Siobhan. Basically I got tired of his mom not have a name and Siobhan is a good, strong Irish name and has been stuck in my head for their kid since like December or something. Not any of my prompts. I'm going to work on those here soon. I've got a couple I just need to finish. "An Open Heart is An Open Wound" has been taking up most of my fanfic writing time, so if you want head to my page and check that one out I'd appreciate it!**  
 **I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know if you like it!**


	12. That Would Be Enough

He stares at her, lost for words for once, looming, his hand clenched into a tight fist. All at once his eyes burn with blue fire, not directed at fate or destiny or the unfairness of their world, but at her. The silence radiates around him, anger falling off his skin in waves.

"Killian…" Emma stands, reaching for him, but he steps back.

"You lied to me," he says with an angry snarl. "You told me that everything was fine."

"And you never believed me," she snaps back. "Don't act like you did."

"And I assumed that it was some paltry matter, not…this!" His hand sweeps through the air around him, his voice rising. "This isn't some past misdeed that can be swept under the rug until a more convenient time. It's life and death. _Your_ life." He jabs his finger at her, though enough distance stretches between them that he doesn't touch her.

Emma plants her hands on her hips. "I was trying to protect you!"

"I'm not the one in need of protecting!" he spits. "You found out weeks ago and you're gadding about like the devil may care. No concern for your safety whatsoever."

"See?" She throws her hands up in the air. "I knew you'd do this. I just want some damn peace in my life and you're all riled up." She shoves her hair behind her ears, glaring.

"As I should be." A floorboard creaks as he steps closer. "You're a fool, Emma, if you think I'm letting you fight this alone. I will not sit idly as one more person I love is ripped from my grasp."

"You make it sound so easy," she says, rubbing at her eyes.

He sucks in a deep, sharp breath. "You make it sound like you're giving up."

She crosses her arms, her hands moving up and down against the chill that seeped into her bones that cold night with the Oracle. "Yeah, well, maybe I should."

"No. You don't get to do that." Killian's fingers curl around her shoulder, forcing her to face his anger. His voice echoes against the walls of their home. Sharp. Bitter. Scared. "Do you think that after everything we've been through I'm going to let you stop fighting? I imagine the woman who found a way into the underworld and brought me back can find a way to avoid her own bloody death!"

"I'm not the one who brought you back!"

"And yet I'm standing right here!"

"Hey!" The voice is deeper than they're used to, louder too. Henry stands in the open door, his lips pressed tight together. His backpack thunks to the floor as he crosses to them. "What the hell is going on? Killian, why are you yelling at my mom?" He glares at the pirate, stepping slightly in front of Emma.

"It's nothing," Emma says, tugging at his jacket, pulling him away from Killian before he does something well-meaning, but stupid.

Killian's nostrils flare. He takes a step back, then another, ignoring the glaring teenager who is almost as tall as Emma.

"I'm going for a walk," he says, spinning on his heel. His boots practically slam against the floor on his way to the door. He pauses just long enough to grab his keys and jacket, not bothering to put it on as he throws his last words over his shoulder. "Don't bother waiting up for me."

The door rattles behind him.

"Are you okay?" Henry demands. "What was that about?"

"We just had a fight," she says, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. "It happens. It's nothing. We'll work it out when he gets back."

Henry shrugs. "Of course, you will." He studies Emma, green eyes prompting her to duck away. "Are you sure you're alright, Mom?"

"Yeah, kid," she says. "It's nothing you need to worry about."

"I find that's usually when I need to worry."

She chuckles. "It's going to be okay."

# # #

A rough hand on her shoulder shakes Emma out of the same dream as always.

"It's alright," Killian says. "You're alright. You're safe." His solid, low voice contrasts the blurry shadow hovering above her.

Emma blinks a few times, her eyes adjusting to the darkness as her brain sorts through her memories in an attempt to figure out how she got here. She remembers is falling asleep on the couch, Liam's ring carving its imprint against her palm as she stared at the front door, willing it to open. She doesn't remember getting into bed or stripping down to her tank top and underwear.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she rasps, "Thank you."

Killian withdraws to the other side of the bed, turning his back to her. Their mattress feels impossibly wide, but he came back. He is still angry, but he came back anyways. Even though she knew he would, the relief still wells up inside of her. Silent tears track down her cheeks as she struggles to keep her breathing even. She won't beg for his sympathy, not now, not when she was the one in the wrong.

He exhales, long and slow, and rolls onto his back.

"How could you keep this from me?" he asks, strained and tired sounding.

She turns on her side to see his profile in the dim light, his hand buried in his hair.

"I can understand wanting to keep this from your parents, from Henry…But from me?"

"Telling you makes it real," she whispers. "Telling you means I've decided I should fight it."

"About bloody time," he mutters. His hand drags down his face once, before he rolls away from her again. Only for a second, only long enough for him to reach for his bedside lamp and flick it on. He settles on his side this time, arms crossed over his chest, his cool, impartial gaze softening somewhat when he sees the tears she hastily wipes away. "That's the second time you've said that. Should."

Emma shrugs, reaching for the ring on its chain, but it isn't around her neck anymore. She settles for picking at the neckline of her tank top. "I don't—it's a feeling, like I'm standing between you guys and something worse. What if fighting my fate means I lose one of you again?"

"I'm not letting you sacrifice yourself for some noble greater good…" he snaps.

"Really?" She pushes up onto her elbow, glaring at him. " _You_ get to decide that for me?

"You have no idea…"

"Yes," she hisses, mindful of Henry down the hall, "I do. I know exactly how that feels. Exactly. And that's why if it comes down to me or one of you, I won't even hesitate. Because I know." Her vicious jab at the scar over his ribs almost tips him back onto his back. Her hand trembles. She curls her fingers into a fist, willing the shaking to stop.

Killian scoots a few inches closer, taking her hand and steadying it, pulling it to his chest.

"Can you really blame me for feeling the same way?"

"No." She spreads her fingers, the hair on his chest tickling against her palm. His hand over hers, pressing it tightly to him, stills the shaking some.

"I haven't been lucky enough to have many people who loved me," he says. "But despite the shortness of the list, I have been loved and known it. No one, though, has loved me the way you do, Emma. It would be poor form not to return the favor." He shifts a little closer. "Besides, I think you're missing one key point."

"And that would be?"

"Hyde is a villain and we— _they_ lie."

"But the Oracle…"

"Who we know next to nothing about…"

"I had the vision, Killian. Me, not her."

He sighs. "You know I can't just accept that. You may have, but I can't, Emma."

She nods. "I know. That's…" She sighs. She is so tired. "That's why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd hit defcon zero right away and…"

He waits for her to find a voice for words in her head.

"This terrifies me." And shit, she's crying again. She sits up, pulling her hand back so she can scrub at the tears on her face.

"I gathered as much, love," he says bitterly, but his hands traces soothingly up her spine. "The walls and all that."

"No," she says, "that's not it. That's not—ugh." She shakes her head, giving in to the exhaustion and leaning against the pillows again. "It's like—it's like there's this fucking time bomb hovering over my head, ready to drop at any moment. I'm scared to go anywhere. I'm scared to do anything. I'm scared to-to breathe…The only time I'm not scared is here, with you. We had this happy, little bubble. I just wanted that for a little bit longer."

He sighs, the mattress dips, the distance between them disappearing as he molds his body around hers, his arms wrapping solidly around her. She hiccups and then the tears come pouring out in earnest. All the fear she bottled up flows, the purge sped along by the way he tightens his arms and cradles the back of her head, lending comfort without words. She faces it, truly faces it, for the first time since she saw the Oracle's vision and lets it go. His lips move against her forehead in silent reassurances.

She snuffles, pulling away enough to swipe the snot from under her nose. "I'm sorry for all this."

"Emma, don't be sor—"

"Not that," she says. "I meant that with everything you've been through, your true love ended up being me. The chick with an early expiration date."

"Even if you are right—and I'm not saying you are—" He pauses, a ghost of a smile on his face as he tucks wispy strands behind her ear. "Even if this Oracle told you true, were I given the chance to do this all over again, I would still choose you, Emma Swan. Every moment we have had together has been worth it."

She smiles. "Every moment, huh? Even the one where I left you with a giant? Oh, or the one where I knocked you over the head with a fire hydrant."

"I did throw you into a wall first, so fair's fair." He laughs, a soft thing that she feels against her skin, but barely hears. "Besides, I think the fire hydrant finally knocked the sense into me."

"And here thought it was my rousing speech at Granny's."

He traces the shape of her face again, leaning in and pressing his lips to her forehead before he buries his face against the line of her neck.

"You are not going to die."

Emma nods. She wants to believe there is a way out of this, but it's hard, when everything else points to the fact that she has never gotten a break. But he has faith, maybe that would be enough for the both of them.


	13. Just Stay Alive

Stricken.

It is the only word he knows to describe the look on Snow and David's faces when Emma tells them of her visions. They would still be in the dark if it were up to her, but the trembling in her hand grows to noticeable to hide, as do the dark circles beneath her eyes and the way she jumps at every shadow.

Bright tears spring to the princess' eyes as she regards her daughter, unable to voice her customary hope speech. David slumps numbly beside her, staring at Emma without seeing her, all fire gone from his gaze. It's the lad who breaks from the trance first, the chair clattering across the floor as he glares down at his mother with clenched fists.

"You lied to me," he spits out.

"Henry." Emma sits forward, reaching for her son.

Henry snatches his hand away, spinning on his heel and slamming the door behind him as he races from the apartment. Killian can't begrudge him the actions as he performed the same sequence mere weeks ago. Gently, he smoothes his hand down Emma's back as she places her head in her hands. Across the table, Snow White meets his eyes, some of the fight returned to her brittle, green gaze.

"I'll go talk to him," Killian says.

David shakes out of his stupor, reaching for his wife with one hand and his daughter with the other. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. We will need an operation name after all."

Emma laughs a dry, hiccupping laugh, removing her hands from her face to take those of her parents. "I screwed this all up, didn't I?"

"You were just doing what you thought was best," Snow says.

Killian presses a kiss to the crown of blonde hair, squeezing Emma's shoulder. "I'll be back shortly."

By the time Killian reaches the street, Henry is nowhere in sight. He ambles down the street, checking several of Henry's particular haunts, but the lad is not at Granny's and the library is still locked up. People pass him on the street, offering friendly smiles where they once would have averted their eyes and crossed the street. He wonders how any of them would react to the conversation in the loft with Emma's family. Would they shake their heads sadly? Would they pledge to fight? All of these people have benefitted from Emma's help, would they be as willing to return the favor?

He turns down the street, continuing his quest. Giving the lad more time to sort things out will hardly hurt either of them.

When he finds Henry, the the location fails to surprise him. He supposes that when faced with the loss of one parent, it is only natural to seek out another. His stomach clenches at the sight of the headstone, despite the name that feels so unfamiliar to him. He watches for moment, pulling out his phone and painstakingly typing out a text. He prefers to call, but is loath to disturb this moment.

Henry picks at the grey, brittle grass buried under the frost as Killian lower himself to the ground next to him. He remains silent, more than practiced in the study of convincing this family to open up.

"This is what you guys were fighting about when I came home the other night, isn't it?" Henry asks, viciously yanking up a blade of grass and pulling it apart strange by strand.

"Aye."

"I can't believe I took her side," he mutters. "I should have been yelling right along with you."

"No," Killian says with force, startling them both, he continues a little softer, "you shouldn't have. She is your mother and you should never brook that tone with her. It's poor form."

"But you can?" Henry shoots back, a glare overtaking his morose expression.

Killian runs a hand through his hair, understanding now more than ever why Liam held himself to such a high standard. Children forget nothing. "No. I lost my temper. That was also poor form."

"But she deserved it," Henry says, digging into the dirt with the toe of his sneaker.

"Lad, all our lives would be vastly different if what we all deserve were meted out." Killian sighs, eyeing the stone effigy before them. The lump in his throats grows heavier as he follows the unyielding letters. He imagines Bae's fate is one of the things that would be very different if things were as they should be. No matter the sins of the man, the lad hadn't deserved such thorough abandonment by those who should have cared for him.

Henry shifts and Killian swallows.

 _I'll not fail you as I failed your father_ , he wants to say, but this is not the time or the place to dwell on his own guilt. And truly, he doesn't want the boy to doubt the affection that belongs wholly to him, not because of who his mother is or the weight of long-ago failings, but because Henry has staked his own claim on Killian's heart.

"I can't believe she didn't tell me. I'm the author, I can…"

"Don't, Henry," Killian says, hand on the boy's shoulder. "We both know that's not how we fight this."

Henry shrugs him off. "I can't believe this. I can't believe you helped her. You'd think you'd be on my side."

"I am on your side." Killian rises, brushing the dirt and grass from his pants and holding out his hand to Henry. The lad glares, but accepts the help up. "I mean it, Henry. I am on your side or do you think it coincidence that you were in the room when Emma was finally ready to share?"

"She wanted to keep me in the dark?"

"She's your mother. She wants to protect you."

"Would you have gone along with it?"

Killian nods. "Aye. Because first and foremost, I am on her side." He moves closer, hand on the lad's shoulder again. "This scares her as much as it scares you. She wanted to spare you that as long as she could."

"Yeah, but how are we supposed to help her if she doesn't tell us something is wrong?"

He laughs, slinging an arm around Henry's shoulders and steering him through the headstones. "Oh, you know your mother, she'd rather end up with one of these than ask for help for herself." He winks, holding his hook up between them. "We'd be quite the pair, then, wouldn't we?"

Henry rolls his eyes.

The amble back toward town in silence for a few minutes, Henry's hands stuffed in his pockets as he hunches into Killian's shoulder.

"We are going to find a way around this, right, Killian?"

"Of course we are," a familiar voice drifts down the path.

Killian glances up from Henry's bent head to see Emma standing a few feet away, her hands stuffed into her pockets in much the same way as her son. A breeze comes up, tugging at her ponytail, teasing the strands around her face as she graces him with a flitting smile before meeting Henry's eyes.

"Still mad at me, kid?" she asks, closing the distance between them.

"Yes," Henry grumbles, but when she holds her arms out to him, he goes willingly, tucking his face into her shoulder even though he has to hunch slightly to do so.

She holds him tightly. "It is going to be okay, kid. I promise."

"You didn't seem to think so earlier," the boy says pulling back.

Emma takes a deep breath. "Yeah, well, I sometimes I forget that my being alive in the first place could be considered a miracle in and of itself." Her soft smile is a breathtaking confirmation that leaving her with her parents had been the right decision. She holds her hand out to Killian, her fingers sliding between with such ease he wonders how every moment apart from her isn't filled with phantom pains like the those he experienced after losing his hand. "This family has beat higher odds, after all."

"Ah, yes, what are curses and death in the face of true love?" His smile widens at the way Henry groans and looks away, as though dreading what comes next. Mindful of the company, Killian merely pecks Emma on the cheek, his thumb dragging across the back of her hand with the promise of later.

She squeezes his hand back, the weight of secrets finally lifted from her eyes. "Alright, come on, Mom cooked so we three are in charge of dishes."

"And then family war council?"

Emma shakes her head. "Tomorrow. I think we've dealt with enough of this business for one day."

# # #

"Go ahead," Emma says later that night from her perch at the head of their bed. She watches, chin resting on her knees as he climbs in beside her.

"Wouldn't dream of it, love," he replies, settling into the dip they are already carving into the mattress, wrapping his arms around her.

Emma presses her cheek against his chest, her warmth radiating through the thin material of his t-shirt. "Too bad you're so good at saying it without words."

He chuckles. "Yes, well, I've always been a smug bastard. And you love me for it."

"Hmm, yes I do." Her fingers trace up and down his forearm in thoughtful circles. "You were right. I should have told my parents weeks ago."

"I know." He ignores the clench of his heart in his chest, choosing instead to pull her closer and bury his nose in hair, the scent of her shampoo calming him. She already looks lighter, the weight of her secrets no longer pulling her taut. "I told you, burdens are always easier to carry when you trust your loved ones to help you. How did they take it?"

"Well, Dad didn't exactly have room to talk."

Killian chuckles. "Certainly not."

"And Mom is Mom. She's sure there is a solution." Emma sighs. "I still have to figure out how to beat this thing."

"Oh, that's rather simple, don't you think?"

"Really?" She pushes up, staring down at him, her hair falling in a curtain around them. "Do share your wisdom, Captain Jones."

"Just stay alive," he says, fingers ghosting over the curve of her cheek, memorizing the softness of her skin. Moments like these scare him, the ones where he feels as though he is touching her, holding her for the last time. Emma isn't the only one haunted by what these visions reveal. He tells her she is wrong about them every day, even when the small voice in his head asks what he'll do if she's right.

"You make it seem so easy," she whispers.

"Aye," he says. Before she can retreat from this moment, he pulls her close, kissing her. He follows as she sinks back into the mattress, her fingers threaded in his hair. Breathlessly, he breaks the kiss with a grin. "You know what else I make seem easy?"

The melancholy disappears to the sound of a light giggle. "No idea."

"Well, then, why don't I show you?"


	14. Payback

Killian held his tongue as the wizened old man came on screen, holding his strange device up to the streets lights. A rather useful looking little thing, this deluminator, as it whisked the street to darkness. He feigned nonchalance as the grey tabby morphed into a tall witch with a pointed hat and a face that brooked no quarrel. He knew both their names, of course, had known them for several weeks.

His two companions, however, were still in the dark about this information. And he intended to keep them in the dark about this particular fact for several more minutes.

Emma sat curled at his side, one hand entwined with his, the other securing the remote control from Henry on her other side. He held a large bowl of popcorn, shifted now so that it was within easy reach of his mother. She had taken him to task not five minutes ago for hogging the greasy, salty snack. Though why anyone would enjoy such dry comestibles when there were far more palatable options in the house, Killian did not know. He supposed it was an acquired taste.

His moment came as the two characters greeted each other.

The couch creaked as he sat forward.

"Wait, Dumbledore?" he asked, eyebrows shooting up as he feigned surprise. "As in Albus Dumbledore?"

Emma and Henry turned to him, confusion written across their faces as they puzzled out his words. Emma was the first to come the desired conclusion.

"Did you...know… _him_?" She narrows her eyes, torn by her skepticism. She hasn't seemed so thrown since they first discovered Zelena's presence in Storybrooke.

"Well, not him..." Killian waved at the television screen. "Bit taller than the man I knew. Face is all wrong too. But I did know an Albus Dumbledore. Powerful wizard, likes expensive hosiery."

Henry's nose wrinkled. "Expensive what?"

"Socks," Emma clarified. "Seriously?"

"Aye," Killian said. "Gifted me with an excellent pair little over a century ago when I ran into him on an errand for Pan. I think he quite fancied me." Killian shrugged. "Broke his heart in the end of course, not quite my type."

Henry tugged on his mother's sleeve. "Mom, he would have had to go on the internet to find that out."

Which he had...or rather, Belle already knew this little tidbit and had passed it onto him when he enlisted her help finding some way to get back at Emma and Henry's constant mentions of what she called "pop culture". He'd been a bit skeptical when Belle handed him _The Sorceror's Stone_ —he didn't remember Henry listing any of the _Harry Potter_ titles that day in the diner—but she assured him that Emma was a fan of the series and any family movie night would eventually involve the set of films. She even dropped a hint or two to prompt the pair.

He bit back a grin as their plans came to fruition. The expressions on Henry and Emma's faces were priceless. Shock and awe dawning in identical pairs of green eyes as they exchanged a quick glance.

"Seriously?" Emma asked again, her voice almost reverent.

"Seriously," he said with a wink. "Blondes are trouble enough, I'd hate to imagine what trouble a redhead could get into."

Emma pressed her lips together, sitting back to look him dead in the eye. "The truth, Killian, because if you are about to tell me that J.K. Rowling got it all wrong and Harry Potter is a manic demon child, I swear it will be a full month before I stop crying. At the least."

He knew going into this he wouldn't be able to keep the charade up for long, though he hadn't counted on Emma threatening with tears.

She caught the brief hesitation before he could utter a word.

"Henry, you might want to move." And then she seized the pillow from behind her back and proceeded to beat him senseless with it.

Mere moments passed before Henry joined in from his other side.

"Bloody hell," he cried out, burying his hook deep between the couch cushions as he tried to field off the blows with his right hand, but he was laughing with them, his voice filling in the low notes of their three part harmony. At last, he managed to capture Emma's pillow, ripping it from her grasp and delivering a solid wallop to both of them. They all three, collapsed breathlessly, Killian sandwiched between the two.

"Bloody unfair double-teaming a man with only one hand," he muttered as he pulled his hook back out of the cushions and detached it. He still wasn't entirely sure the fight was over and he intended to fight back properly should he need to defend himself again.

Emma snorted. "Yeah, whatever. You should have just said you'd already watched the stupid movies."

"And miss the looks on your faces? Not a chance." He slipped his arm behind her head, stretching his legs out before him and settling more comfortably on the couch. "Besides, I haven't seen the movies. I'm reading the books."

"Of course you are." Emma rolled her eyes. "Alright, kid, grab the popcorn again," she said with a nod at the bowl of popcorn sitting safely away on the coffee table. "Killian, I swear, if you start griping about what's different from the book, you will be sleeping on this couch."

Killian laughed. "Not likely. We both know you can't bear to be parted from me."

"Okay, guys, movie time," Henry chimed in, shoving the bowl of popcorn into Killian's lap.

Emma giggled and pressed play.

# # #

"Which one is that?" Emma asked as she clambered into bed later that night.

Now that the secret was out, there was no reason to sneak he couldn't lounge in bed while his true love went about her evening routine.

Plucking the thick tome from his fingers, she collapsed against him, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. Her finger holding his place, she flipped the book around. Bronze foil stood out against the black spine, the title plain as day.

"Oh, _Goblet of Fire_ , that's a good one." She flashed him an excited grin. "There's nothing quite like your first time through _Harry Potter_."

"Aye, it's quite the tale," he said. "I like this Cedric fellow."

She laughed softly. "Of course you would."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Emma hummed, shifting so she could look at him properly, her fingers running through his hair and nearly driving all thought of their conversation out of his mind. A soft smile graced her features, the tenderness in her gaze causing his breathe to catch in his chest. She leaned in, her nose brushing against his.

"You, sir, are a textbook Hufflepuff if I ever saw one."

"I'd have said Slytherin myself," Killian murmured, fighting back the grimace.

"Nope," Emma said. "You're as loyal as they come and for a pirate, you're an awful stickler for fair play."

"Hmmm, I like your assessment much better." He pulled away, checking his page number before setting the book on his nightstand. "These books, they were very important to you?"

She shrugged, sliding under the covers as she searched for words. "Harry was like me." She blinked at him, her lips parting slightly as her gaze shifted a hundred miles away. "More like me than I could have known then. Wow." She sobered a little. "I mean, we were both orphans and that was important to me as a kid. Those books made me feel less alone. Although, I think my story played out a bit better than his did. I got my parents back."

"Aye," Killian said, "but it looks like things will work out for him eventually as well. That Sirius fellow might not be his father, his affection for the boy seems genuine."

Emma bit her lip, her eyes flicking away from him for the briefest moment.

"Swan…"

"What?" she asked innocently. She ran her fingers through his hair again, a knowing smirk on her face as she pulled him in for a kiss. "Now, how about we save the book talk for breakfast."

"You're trying to distract me."

She wrinkled her nose and him. "And I'm doing a very good job."

"Bloody impossible woman," he muttered.

Her was giggle more enticing than a siren's call and Killian saw no reason to fight such a distraction. After all, he could always ask the question again in the morning, when she couldn't use her wiles avoid the question. Not that he would mind if she tried.

* * *

 **You're welcome to disagree with me on what house Killian would actually be sorted into and you could be right. Frankly, a good case could be made for Killian being sorted into any of the houses, but for reasons I won't go into here, Hufflepuff just feels like the best fit to me.**

 **Hope you like it! It's been a while since I wrote pure fluff. Lol. Please R &R!**


	15. Take A Hint

"So, when are you planning to ask my mom to marry you?"

Across from Henry, Killian choked on his coffee, spluttering and coughing for a long moment. Eventually he caught his breath and cleared his throat, not that it did any good, his voice still came out a bit high. "I—Come again?"

"My mom," Henry said, leaning back in his booth, eyeing the menu. He wasn't sure whether he wanted pancakes or sausage and eggs this morning. Frowning he put down the menu, trying not look like he was enjoying Killian's gape-mouthed stare too much. "Well, I guess since I have two moms that doesn't help much. You know, blonde, about 5' 5", green eyes, pretty much a force of nature especially when she's pissed, goes by Emma. You might know her, considering you've been dating almost a year?"

Killian seemed to realize he still held his coffee, elbow akimbo as if about to take a sip. He swallowed, finally took a swig and set the cup down, his fingers tapping the handle in a rapid rhythm Henry didn't recognize.

"Listen, mate…"

"I hope you're not waiting for her to ask, because that's not happening." At least, not any time soon, but his stepdad—just because it wasn't official didn't make it untrue—didn't need to know that. Not yet.

Killian sat back, looking a bit offended. "First off, lad, what makes you think we have any interest in getting married? Secondly, I think you're very much mistaken, your mother has never had any problem asking for what she wants…quiet loudly at times, as I'm sure you've noticed."

Henry blinked. "Killian…she's waiting for _you_ to ask."

Killian kept his face schooled in careful neutrality, but Henry didn't miss the way he sat forward or the way his fingers stilled on the handle of his mug.

"And what," he began, his eyes boring into Henry's, "makes you say that?"

Henry rolled his eyes, that sardonically raised eyebrow wasn't fooling anyone. "Oh my gosh, and you call yourself the Emma-whisperer."

"I do not—The what?"

"We'll introduce you to reality TV eventually," Henry said, glancing around the diner. He spotted the waitress coming over to take their orders, and he clamped his mouth shut. The whole point of confronting Killian while some minor drama whisked Emma away was so that she didn't find out he had meddled—like she told him not to do. He wanted to be obedient. He seriously did, but at this point it was going to be another twenty-eight years before Killian figured things out. As soon as the waitress walked away, he leaned in, smirking at the way Killian mirrored him. "Seriously, Killian, she's been dropping hints for a solid month. And that's just when I started noticing."

"Hints? What kind of hints?"

"Like with the wedding dress."

Killian's brow furrowed. "The… _wedding_ dress?"

"You know," Henry gestured in the direction of the shop across the street, but stopped halfway as further confusion informed him that Killian did not know. "Last week, the dress in the shop window."

"The one she said she liked? And mused whether they had it in her size?" Killian's eyes widened, his mouth dropping open.

"And you told her to do as she liked…"

"And asked where she planned to wear such a dress." Killian groaned, covering his face with his hand. "I had no idea this realm had specific attire for getting married."

"Really?" Henry sat back as the waitress brought over their breakfast—since Regina wasn't here to tell him he needed brain food and not sugar, he'd gone with the pancakes—and chomped down on a piece of bacon right away, considering Killian as the man stabbed a piece of sausage with his fork and took a bite. "What did people in the Enchanted Forest wear to get married?"

"Usually their best clothes," Killian replied. He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. "Though, I've never been to a royal wedding. I imagine the wealthy had the funds to get married in clothes made for the occasion, no matter that they'd only be used once." He set this fork down, scratching behind his ear. "I truly had no idea. I assumed that if she fancied the idea, she'd be the one to ask."

Henry's knife stilled, golden butter oozing into the cut he just made. "Killian, this is my mom we're talking about. She knows you. She wants to give you this."

A soft smile crept across Killian's face. It was, frankly, really gross how mushy these two could be about each other. But he was willing to brave it, since this was his mom's happiness they were discussing. Besides, it wasn't like living with them part time didn't expose him to far mushier. His tolerance to sappiness had certainly grown over the last year.

Killian sat back, the smile fading into a slightly skeptical look. "You're sure?"

"Yep," Henry said, making sure to pop the 'p'. "I asked her why she didn't just come out and say something."

Killian raised an eyebrow. "Bad form, discussing something given to you in confidence."

Henry rolled his eyes. "At the rate you were going, I was going to get married before you caught on." A thought occurred to him, he bit his lip. "I don't suppose you can _not_ mention that I said anything…"

The corners of Killian's mouth turned down, his dimples showing as he tried and failed to suppress his smile. Henry glared, though he put no heat behind the look. He was well aware that he was being hypocritical. Finally, Killian leaned back, sipping at his coffee.

"She should have known better after the house incident," he said, setting the mug down. He sighed. "I suppose…"

Henry didn't understand why, but he found himself holding his breath. It felt like everyone in the diner was on them, every ear listening in, but when his eyes sought the diner's occupants he found the waitress engrossed in her conversation with the customer at the counter and the couple two booths down caught up in their own world. Knives and forks clinked against plates and coffee sloshed in mugs.

A twinkle came into Killian's eyes, and Henry couldn't help think that whatever other untruths J.M. Barrie wrote, he got this one detail right.

"I suppose we'll need an operation name, won't we?" Killian grinned wider than a kid on Christmas and Henry breathed a sigh of relief. "Think you can come up with one? As I hear…" Killian cut the sentence off, his eyes searching the diner as well. "I hear these types of things are a bit of a production in this realm."

Henry snorted. "Should suit you just fine." He pursed his lips, his mom was smart, she'd figure out something was up if they weren't careful. "How about…Operation Cygnus?"

"Aye, that sounds perfect."


	16. Call Me Back Maybe

Emma waits for moments when Killian is out and about to listen to the twelve voicemails he left her. She knows this probably makes her the worst girlfriend in the world, but she can't help it. It's impossible to forget the way he blushed when he returned her phone and scratched that spot behind his ear as he sheepishly suggested she simply delete the messages.

In all honesty, she was impressed that he kept it down to twelve. He is prone to obsess at time, so that felt like a reasonable number—the Killian Jones version of double texting—especially considering that twice the number of messages would have been waiting for Killian had their places been switched. His behavior stirred up her curiosity and it stays stirred up until she finally starts listening

 _"Swan, it's Killian. Call me."_

The first one is straight forward, the words neutral, but she smiles at the irate edge to his voice. He wanted to say more, that much is evident, but held back.

Only until the next message though.

 _"Emma, I'm aware you want to break your parent's curse as soon as possible, but I think I'm entitled to a little more than a phone message. Could it really not have waited five more minutes? Call me. Something about this doesn't quite feel right."_

Killian comes home before she can get to the third voicemail and life in Storybrooke gets hairy—as it usually does—so three days pass before she finds another moment to herself. A few quiet minutes after seeing Henry off at Granny's when she can sit and sip her coffee before heading to the station.

 _"I'm sorry, Swan, I shouldn't have been so short with you. I know you're worried about your parents, I just wish you hadn't run off on your own what with…everything that is going on. And don't tell me that New York City is safer because there is no magic. As I recall, quite a few things have happened in that cesspool of a city... We need to talk, Emma. Not about this—though we will—Please call me."_

Her throat tightens up as she listens and she can't blame him for being offended that she didn't take him with her. If she'd had any choice in the matter, she would have. Killian makes far better traveling company than Regina in her estimation. She saves that one and slides her phone into her pocket, waving at Granny as she leaves for work and trying not to cry at the weight of all the things pressing down on her.

She finds out later that she should have listened to the next message, because it has her laughing out loud.

 _"It occurs to me that I am one of the things that happened in New York. I suppose I never apologized for throwing you into that wall. Though, you've never apologized for hitting me with that fire extiguisher... You shouldn't, for the record, I deserved the headache, even if it lasted for three days. I'm glad we've found more...beneficial ways to work things if you know what I mean."_

His smirk practically echoes through the speaker. She saves that one too, hurriedly as her dad surprises her at the sheriff station with a message from her mom and yet another problem for them to solve. Luckily, the present business wipes the smile from her face before Killian joins them. She gives him a kiss on the cheek despite the serious situation, a silent apology for the fire extinguisher…Even if he did deserve it.

She gets to the fifth one while Killian is in the shower, covered in some odd muck that she is not getting near, not even with the promise of soapy pirate attached. She goes through her normal, nighttime, we-got-our-asses-kicked-and-I-have-no-energy-for-shenanigans routine. She brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas to the soundtrack of Killian cursing up a storm at the audacity of a creature that would get such slime in his magnificent hair—his words, not hers.

Grinning from ear to ear, she crawls under the covers and pulls out her phone, listening for the shower's cut off as she dials her voicemail.

" _I realize I'm leaving an inordinate number of messages for you, but I can't shake this feeling_ …" His sigh is so low, she almost misses it. _"Perhaps my worry for you plays tricks on me. I wish you had let me come with you, Emma, this is as important to me as it is to you, after all… I miss you. Call me? Set my mind at ease."_

She has time for another message, but she ends the call, cradling the phone in her hands until the water shuts off. Killian emerges from the bathroom, clad in the flannel sleep pants she bought him and a towel slung around his shoulders, rubbing at his hair vigorous and causing it to stand up every which way.

"I think that's all of it," he says, ambling over to the bed and leaning down for her inspection.

"Good," Emma mutters. "That stuff stank. I'd have just shaved my whole head."

He snorts as he returns the towel to the bathroom, his voice echoing against the tiled walls. "I suppose you're lucky I have more patience than you."

"It grows back."

"How's the knee?" Killian asks, returning to slide into bed.

She likes the way his weight shifts the mattress, how she rolls a little toward him as he gets in. It makes her feel all warm inside.

"Well, it's purple now, but it only hurts if I poke it." She scoots closer, wrapping her arms around him and thinking that maybe she pulled out no-energy-for-shenanigans pajamas a little prematurely. "I missed you today."

Killian chuckles, the sound rolling pleasantly through both of them. "Ah, yes, that entire hour and a half we were apart was excruciating."

"Hey." Emma slaps him lightly, enough to get a soft crack, but not enough to sting. That much. "An hour and a half is a long time."

"I missed you too," he whispers, lips brushing her temple.

She grins wickedly up at him. "Care to show me how much?"

The following messages veer from sweet to decidedly irate and maybe she should be offended that he jumped to the wrong conclusion first, but the fact that he knew something was up gives her hope for any future unauthorized field trips to strange lands.

She listens to them at work, waiting for a shift when her dad is asleep, the ache of missing him lifted somewhat by Killian's put upon tone.

" _How am I supposed to bloody know if you're even getting these messages? Either they are falling into some…mystical void or you are ignoring me. If you are, by some miracle receiving these messages, you need to turn around. Something is off with Regina. I can't put my hook on what, but something is wrong. Call me."_

They devolve from there, short, rapid fire messages that she flies through one day during the ten minutes it takes Killian to meet her for lunch at Granny's. He arrives before she can get to the last one, but she thinks it might be better than way. It's probably just as brief as the last half dozen, but she likes having something to look forward to.

She sneaks her phone outside the next morning as she takes out the trash, her arms goose pimpled by the chill in the air. She hadn't thought grabbing a jacket necessary for a two minute chore, though now she regrets venturing out with bare arms. They have passed from fall to winter, a small triumph, she decides as she listens to Killian's message.

" _It's me again. I'm sorry for leaving so many messages, but from what I recall, phones still function in New York City. Please use yours and get back to me. Something doesn't feel right."_

She hears his patience straining; he sounds five minutes away from convincing one of her parents to take him on a road trip all the way to the Big Apple. She smiles so big, her nose crinkles and she thinks maybe she needs a minute before she heads back inside, despite the cold. No way she looks him in the eye without laughing after that message.

It ends up being a moot point, because Killian is Killian and he catches the smile's ghost in her eyes when she returns to the house.

"Did the neighbors do something particularly amusing?" A reasonable guess, given that their neighbors have all the quirks associated with fairy tale characters.

"No." She takes the glass of orange juice he offers, glad she's convinced him that fish in any form is not proper 21st century breakfast food. "Just thinking about some things."

"Thinking about me, I hope," he says with a wink that would have Henry groaning if he were here instead of at Regina's that morning.

"Always." She grabs a carton of eggs while he sets the oven to reheat a couple of her mom's homemade blueberry muffins.

"And what," he asks over the beeping of the dial, "were you thinking about me?"

Emma pauses, considering her words. "That you're cute when you're worried."

Killian gapes at her, brow furrowed, with all the wounded pride a three-year-old told to eat their vegetables. "Cute is for children and puppies, Swan. Not for fearsome pirates who, I'll have you know, had entire navies quivering in their boots."

Emma bites her lip. She really should keep her response to herself, but she can't. Not with such good bait. "You're cute when you're offended too."

Killian splutters.

Emma pulls out her phone, hitting the speed dial and pulling up her saved messages. She doesn't want to keep a secret, even one this minor, from him ever again and now that she doesn't have to worry about him talking her son into deleting them before she can hear them, she's ready to share.

He watches the floor as he listens, cheeks pinking adorably—and he can argue all he wants, he is adorable—as she navigates from one messages to the next. She hadn't saved all of them. Just the longer ones. The important ones.

He rubs his neck, looking sheepishly at her through those long, dark lashes of his, so dark he almost doesn't need the kohl.

She kisses his cheek and repeats. "You're cute when you're worried."

"You don't find it…smothering? Ridiculous? Over dramatic?"

Emma bumps his shoulder with hers. "Maybe if everything had been fine and dandy, but I was trapped in a mirror world and you…I don't know, sensed." She shrugs. "It's nice to have that, especially after being on my own so long."

"I know," he sighs, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "And you'll always have that so long as I have any say in the matter."

She melts into him, basking in his presence and the sun shining through the kitchen window, forgetting about destinies and death sentences and Evil Queens for a few minutes. His fingers card through her hair, nearly putting her to sleep standing up, but she has a whole day ahead of her and no idea how many more days she has. So she kisses him and says something about not burning the muffins and slides her phone into her pocket.

And she smiles, because no matter what is ahead of her, she knows she's not alone anymore.

* * *

 **Just a little something I thought up after last week's episode. Also, emmandhook made a fantastic gifset for this (actually, she's the one that convinced me to do write it in the first place) if you want to go check out her tumblr. (Or check out mine, I'll have the link attached when I post this story there.)**

 **Please R &R. I know it's been a while since I posted. This month has been ALL writing ALL the time because of NaNo, but I promise, y'all will reap the benefits in December.**


	17. Of Fathers & Daughters

Snow walks into the hospital room, a bag of food from _Granny's_ held aloft before her and Emma's eyes light up.

"Give me the food and I give you the baby," she says, drawing a chuckle from her mother. "I'm starving."

Killian shoots her a look, annoyed. "I asked if you were hungry fifteen minutes..."

"I couldn't smell it then," Emma says, crossing her legs to make room for her mother.

The mattress crackles as Snow slides onto the end, depositing the bag of food and holding her arms out for Siobhan. Before the transfer happens, Neal charges up to the bed, followed close behind by David and Eva. The youngest of the Charming clan watches from her father's arms with a somber expression. With one year to her brother's nearly three, their new addition intrigues her far less.

"I wanna see too, Sissy," Neal says, standing on his tiptoes with his head craned back at an uncomfortable angle.

"Okay," Snow says, hauling her son up to sit next to her. "Sit here, okay?"

He nods, wide eyes following as Emma passes the infant to their mother. Tucking his feet beneath him, he leans over Snow's arm.

"Remember, be gentle," she says softly. "Like with Eva."

"Emma, she's beautiful," David breathes, rubbing circles on Eva's back. She snuggles against his shoulder, her arms secured around his neck and Killian can't help thinking that he has this to look forward to.

But not for awhile yet.

"Hey," a soft voice says beside him.

"Hello, Henry. Come to meet your sister." He smiles down—barely, the lad is growing so fast—at Henry, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. In his peripheral vision, Killian catches sight of Regina hovering by the door.

The teenager rolls his eyes. "No, I came because I heard the food is good."

"Yeah, well, whoever said that lied," Emma says around a mouth half full of grilled cheese sandwich. "Food here sucks. You should have seen what they tried to pass off as breakfast."

"Sure, Mom," he says, joining the crowd at the bed. He keeps to Emma's end, hands shoved in his jacket pockets as he watches Snow coo over the baby.

"I'd ask if you want to hold her, kid," Emma says, "but I think you'll have to duel your grandmother first."

"Damn right he would," Snow says.

Siobhan fails to captivate Neal for long, but rather than hop off the bed, he crawls to his sister.

"Can I have one?" he asks, pointing to the bag. "Please?"

Emma laughs. "Sure, bud." She fishes out an onion ring, blowing on it for a few seconds before handing it to her brother. He takes it, blowing like she did, though far more loudly and with a bit more spittle. He chomps down with the same enthusiasm as she, though, squirming into place next to her as he chews.

His younger sister is far less content. "Mama," she demands, reaching for Snow.

Her parents laugh.

"Sounds like someone is jealous," David says.

"Mama," Eva repeats, her voice trembling a little.

Snow sighs. "I'm here, baby. Hold on."

"Here, let me." Killian swoops in.

He knew, of course, that everyone would want to hold Siobhan and he means to let them all have their chance, but he already misses the weight of her in his arms. His fingers itch to roll down his sleeve. It is one thing for Emma to see the scars. It is quite another to parade around with his sleeves rolled to his elbows for all to see, but he can't feel the warmth of his daughter's body or the way she moves while wearing the cuff. Perhaps it's slightly ridiculous—Emma probably thinks so—but he can't shake the fear that if he isn't aware of every inch of her he might drop her. But if David and Snow notice, they do not stare and Neal is too wrapped up with talking to Emma—and stealing her onion rings—to be his usual inquisitive self.

Emma rolls her eyes at his quick retrieval of their daughter, but stuffs another onion ring in her mouth rather than throw a jibe.

Ignoring her, Killian nods in Henry's direction. "What about you, Henry? Ready for your turn?"

Henry takes a step back. "Nah, Grandpa was here first." He shrugs it off, trying to play it cool, but his hands are still shoved deep in his pockets and he avoids Killian's gaze.

Killian understands. Just hours ago—has it only been hours, it certainly feels like more—he suffered a similar bout of nerves at the thought of holding Siobhan for the first time.

"Well, you don't have to ask me twice," David says. "May I?"

"Be my guest."

David takes the babe so smoothly she probably doesn't even know the trade occurred, holding Siobhan a little out from him, a move Killian has yet had the nerve to try. Her little body doesn't even stretch the full length of her grandfather's forearm.

He takes a seat on the couch against the wall, laying Siobhan in his lap. "She looks just like Emma did."

"Aye." Killian sinks wearily beside his friend. He took a nap in the chair near Emma's bed earlier, but sleeping means taking his eyes off his daughter and he knows this town. The likelihood of him getting any real sleep until they are home and protected by the myriad wards Emma put around the house seems bleak. "Has her eyes, too. Doctor says they may change over the next few months, but…"

David snorts. "A Charming kid without Snow's eyes? That would probably require a miracle."

"She's already miracle enough for me." Killian smiles down at her, still barely able to look away.

"She's already got you hook, line, and sinker, huh?" David chuckles. "Uh…" He glances up at Killian, mouth twisted in wry amusement. "Pun not intended. It's just something we say here."

"I did spend three centuries on a sailing ship. I understood the reference."

They lapse into silence, David utterly captivated by the enchanting creature before him and Killian content to watch as she dreams, her tiny fingers opening and closing at intervals. He sags back against his seat, eyes growing heavy. But only for a moment before he fights it, sitting back up and rubbing at his eyes.

"When was the last time you slept?" David asks softly. Siobhan's face scrunches up, but he sways and she relaxes a moment later.

"Night before last," he replies. Sleep certainly hadn't been in the cards last night. Not with Siobhan determined to make her entrance in the wee hours. "It's nothing. I've gone longer stretches sailing through a hurricane."

David nods. "I was the same way with Neal and Eva."

"You had good reason. I'll sleep better we're home and I know she'll be safe if I take my eyes off her." He runs his hand through his hair, fighting against the cobwebs clogging up his thought process. "I just—I don't want to fail her."

"Well, it's been what, twelve hours, and no one has kidnapped her or forced you to send her through a magic wardrobe, so I think you're off to a good start." The prince smiles reassuringly, his hand resting protectively over the babe's torso. A wistful expression overtakes his face and he turns his eyes to his wife and eldest daughter. "I barely got five minutes with Emma," he says softly.

That very thought cost Killian and Emma many nights of sleep, especially considering that the months leading up to Siobhan's birth had been less than quiet. And then, there is the other problem, the fact that his daughter—that any of the children they produced would be the product of true love. That thought sent chills down his spine even now. Killian knows what could be done with such a child. He knows what that might mean for her.

Killian reaches out, needing to touch Siobhan even if he isn't holding her. Her tiny fingers curl around his, and he runs his thumb over them. "I don't know how you did it, mate."

"Honestly, some days, I'm not sure how I did it either." David speaks in a near whisper, his gaze distant as he absently rubs Siobhan's stomach, drawing a contented little sigh that nearly breaks Killian's heart. "I just remember knowing that whatever waited for her through that wardrobe was better than what Regina had in store for Snow and I."

A soft, gentle smile returns to David's face as he gazes down at his granddaughter, and Killian feels like an intruder despite the fact that Siobhan is also his daughter. The prince ducks his head, one hand swiping quickly at his eyes before he finds his family once again. Eva has finally let go of her mother in favor of her sister and the remains of the grilled cheese sandwich. Emma appears to be waving off Snow's protests about finding the child another snack, running her hands through the child's curly, dark hair with slow, drowsy movements. He tries not to feel jealous of the way they all fit together so perfectly and imagines instead how he and Emma and their children will look to outsiders. Much the same he would hazard to guess.

David sighs, much in the way the contented infant in his lap had only moments before and claps Killian on the shoulder—gently, of course, so as not to jostle Siobhan—and turns a grin on him.

"I was right in the long run," he says.

Killian swallows, his words sitting thick and heavy in his throat as the full implications of David's words hit him head on. "Thank you."

"Hey," Emma calls from her spot on the bed, "when you two are done doing the adorable bonding thing, bring her back over here. Regina wants a turn…"

"I do not."

"Liar."

"I'm not—"

"Don't argue with me, madam mayor, I just had a baby," Emma says. "Nobody argues with the lady that just had a baby."

The air crackles a little, much as it does when the two disagree over Henry. Killian nearly tells Regina to let Emma have her way, as there is never any point once her mind is made up, but the former queen seems to remember that without his prompting.

Regina huffs and rolls her eyes. "Okay, fine, maybe a little. But I can always wait until another day."

Emma smiles like the cat that caught the canary and leans back against the pillow. She glows, incandescent, and he thinks she has never been more beautiful than in this moment, proudly showing off their daughter to everyone who matters in their lives.

"In a minute," David says with a chuckle. He fusses with Siobhan's blanket, carefully tucking it back over her feet. "You know," he says, "you have two heroes, a powerful sorceress, and—if it comes down to it—the savior all in one room. If you were ever going to take a nap, now would be the time to do it."

Killian sighs rubbing at his eyes again. He wouldn't mind closing his eyes for just a few minutes. "Wake me when you leave?"

David nods, but the sympathy in his glance speaks a different answer.

Killian leans back, crossing his arms, if he just shuts his eyes but keeps his ears open he can doze but still be aware enough to know when the others leave. David pats him on the shoulder one last time and then the couch creaks and his soft footsteps are the last sound Killian hears until he wakes to Emma and Henry's quiet whispers much later.

* * *

 **Just a little accompaniment piece to "Safe and Sound For You". Thanks for reading!**


	18. With A Bit of History

**A/N: Spoilers for 6x11 on. If you haven't seen the promo and all the spec that one shot produced, you may not want to read this.**

* * *

It is everything she wants.

Not the candles or the dinner or the gentle sway of the Jolly Roger under her feet. Definitely not the ring—holy cow, that is a _rock_ —because it isn't quite them (one ring would normally be like another to her, but she finds none of his flair in the plain band).

It's him.

He is everything she wants.

Killian, who clearly researched the hell out of this. Killian, who put more detail into this proposal than he puts into his morning grooming routine (and that is saying something). Killian, who gave her kid the important task of keeping her distracted all day. Killian, who kneels in front of her, a ring in his hand and nervous, but hopeful smile on his face—as if any version of her would ever _want_ to tell him no.

As if any version of her would ever want to grow old with anyone else.

She is glad she's already sitting down, because the look in his eyes right now is enough to turn her knees to jelly.

"I love you," Emma says, hauling him in by his lapels and kissing him for all he is worth.

The ring box hits the makeshift table beside her—a square of plywood and an old rum keg under a checkered cloth—and his hand slides into her hair. She should worry about the hook snagging on her dress, but she just presses closer. He tries to pull back, but she tightens her grip on his jacket. He will understand. He's Killian, he always understands, but she can't bear to see the look in his eyes as she delivers her answer. She presses her forehead to his, her eyes still closed as she orders her thoughts.

"Is that a yes?" he asks unsteadily, his breath a warm tickle on her lips, tempting her to kiss him again.

She doesn't.

"I wish it could be…"

"Swan…"

"Killian…"

"No," he says sharply, "Damocles bloody sword may be hanging over your head, Emma, but we can't stop living our lives." His hand drifts to clutch her shoulder, but he doesn't ask for any more distance. "I want to make the most of the time we have, however much of it there is."

"I know," Emma whispers. "I know." She lets go, the leather slipping from her fingers reluctantly as she moves her hand so she can feel the steady beating of his heart. She swallows, pulling away until she can meet his eyes, because he deserves someone with the courage to that. "But I don't want us doing this because we're scared or because we don't think we'll get the chance later. In five years, when… I don't know… when my dirty socks drive you up the wall and it's been a solid week since we agreed on anything, I don't want you wondering if I would've made a different choice." She presses a finger to his lips when he opens his mouth to protest, silencing him, thought the smooth bastard has the gall to kiss her finger. She giggles.

"Mostly, I want you to ask me again _when_ ," she stresses the word, making it as much a wish as a word, "we figure this out. And when I say yes, I want you to know it's not because I was rushing to cross off items on my bucket list."

His nose scrunches as he tries to decipher that last bit, but he dismisses her colloquialism quickly. "I understand," he says after several long moments, "but that could be years from now."

"I'm not going to let that happen."

"Oh?"

"Nope," she says, the word crisp and sharp in her mouth. "Because I really, really want to marry you and I've never been very patient."

He chuckles, his smile lighting up his face. "Aye, that is more my department." Pressing his lips to her forehead, he murmurs, "I would wait another hundred years for you if I had to."

"You think I'm being ridiculous, don't you?"

"I think…" He presses his lips together, eyes narrowing. "Six months."

"What?"

"Six months," he repeats, "and then I'm asking again, whether the problem is solved or not."

"Now who's the impatient one?" But she grins. She didn't think he would give up, but she was afraid he might doubt that he is enough.

"Still you," he says, taking her hand and pressing his lips to the back. He grins at her coyly. "And I fully intend to use that to my advantage. Now, Your Highness, would you join me in a dance?" Rising with a gentle tug at her hand, he pulls her to her feet, his arm circling her waist. There is no music except the music in his head, but as he moves them across the deck, his steps sure, Emma can almost hear it too.

"Killian," she says softly, "just so you know, I don't need a ring to know you'll never leave me."

"And I don't need one to know how much you love me," he replies, the depth of his affection shining through his blue eyes. He leads her through a few more turns about the ship before he speaks again. "Though, perhaps you should try on the one you do have, just in case I need to get it refitted for next time."

"Are you sure that's the one you want?" she asks. "It's not very you."

"Well, as I will not be the one wearing it, I hardly think that matters." His feet stutter to a stop, concern clouding his brow as he stares down at her. "Do you not like it?"

"You could give me a ring made of straw and I'd love it," she says quickly. "It's just…we already have a ring at home that would be perfect."

"That old thing?" He shrugs, but his gaze shifts over her shoulder. "I got the impression that family rings were rather out of vogue in this realm."

"I don't really see that as a problem. My mom's wedding ring has been passed down through, uh, five generations, I think. " Emma grins wickedly, playfully shoving his shoulder. "Besides you and I both know I like things that have a bit of…history to them."

He gives her that look, the one where he isn't sure whether to kiss her or feign offense, and her grin grows wider.

Killian sighs, dramatically, of course. "Well, I suppose that will depend on whether this one fits, won't it?" And, her hand still in his, he leads her back to the table. With a flick of his thumb, the ring box is open again and he deftly pulls it out. Both eyebrows rise in in question. "May I?"

"You may," she says, offering her hand.

He sweeps his hook underneath, steadying her hand as he slides the ring on her finger. Her breath catches in her throat—even if this isn't official—and she thinks it might be good that she prefers Liam's ring, or she might decide not to take it off ever again. And wouldn't it be a chore to explain that to the denizens of Storybrooke.

A beat of silence passes before Killian hums, holding her hand between them, and trying so hard to look serious as he examines the ring on her finger.

"Well, Swan, what do you think?"

"A bit snug going over that last knuckle," she observes.

He wiggles the ring with his thumb. "Ah, I felt that. I suppose we'll have to go home and compare."

"Your ring fits perfectly," she says.

His head shoots up at that, his eyes wide. "Really?"

"I may have tested it a few times," she says, blushing.

"Well," Killian says, "then I'm glad I kept the receipt."

"You're sure?"

"I could never deny you anything you wanted, Emma," Killian says. He goes to remove the ring, but Emma snatches her hand back.

"Leave it. For just a little longer?"

He doesn't laugh, or shake his head, or tell her she is being ridiculous. "As you wish," is all he says as he pulls her close again and continues to dance with her under the stars.


	19. She Left No Instructions

It happens exactly as she said it would.

A dark night. A hooded figure—a dark sorcerer Killian hadn't heard of until Jasmine spoke his name. The flash of streetlights on metal. The crunch of sword piercing flesh.

He remembers rushing forward. He remembers knowing it was too late before Emma's body hit the ground. He remembers a hoarse shout beside him—hoarse, young—and the scrape of pavement under his boots, the brush of fine wool under his fingers. He remembers tackling Henry to the ground, shielding him from the heat of the sorcerer's flames and the sight of his mother's burning body.

Jafar leaves them nothing more than ashes to bury.

He doesn't remember stumbling home, but it confronts him suddenly, looming out of the night, the creaking gate bringing him crashing back to his senses. Alone. He stares up at the three story Victorian, what little dinner he ate—dinner sitting cold on their…his dining room table—before it all went to hell comes up in a churning rush. He gags and spits as his knees hit he sidewalk. One solid, white gate post supports him as the sickness settles into uneasy nausea. Too numb for tears, Killian pushes back to his feet and stumbles away from the house.

This isn't home. It can't be. Not ever again.

He remembers every step between the house that was theirs and his ship. All of them weighing more than a chest of gold. He boards the _Jolly_ , his feet far less sure than they've ever been. For a moment, he bemoans the guardrails that keep him from falling into the drink and getting crushed against the dock by the hull of his ship. But that would leave a mess for David and Snow to clean up and he can't do that to them now.

Instead, he clambers below deck and pulls out his strongest bottle of rum. The rum is halfway gone when the tears finally come.

The creak of heavy tread pull Killian from his haze of grief and rum late the next afternoon.

David calls his name. A moment later, he calls out again, "I'm coming down," and his boots appear on the top rung of the ladder.

Killian drags himself into some semblance of upright as David descends. He is aware of the other man's presence, but he cannot meet his eyes, choosing instead to focus on the empty rum bottle sitting my his foot. He failed, he failed them all. He was supposed to protect her.

"We were thinking…" David pauses. Swallows loudly. "Tomorrow night. At the beach." Another pause. "If that's alright with you.

Killian nods. He can't find one single reason to ask for more time. What would that gain him anyways. David departs after a few moments of awkward silence and Killian heaves himself to how feet to grab another bottle of rum. Something is missing. A niggling feeling in the back of his mind whispering that this isn't quite how it should be, how he should be, but he cannot put his finger on just what it is.

Pulling himself out of bed the next day is made drastically easier for the fact that his tears and grief ran out sometime during his third bottle of rum. Numb, he puts on his best clothes for the wake—clothes he hasn't worn in months. He finds the vest he wore the day they met and cannot deny himself the sentimentality of it. She would have laughed at him, but he can see the soft, sweet smile she would give him at such thoughtfulness.

He makes it through the proceedings with dry eyes, though as far from sober as he can get away with. After three hundred years, that is very far.

They scatter her ashes on the beach. Her parents step up first, each taking a handful from the jar Archie holds and letting the fine dust go to drift over the water.

"She liked the water," Snow says with a heavy smile and a sad glance in Killian's direction.

Henry steps up next, his hand shaking, hovering over the jar as his shoulders heave silently. Hesitantly—the lad hadn't exactly been pleased with him the night…the other night—Killian places his hand on the lad's shoulder. Henry stills, glances back, his eyes narrow, and he shrugs Killian off. It is not rational, but then, Killian knows all too well how irrational the mind can be in grief. It was he who stopped the lad from interfering and so he is the one the lad will be angry with. Perhaps it is best that way. Better to be angry at Killian than at his family.

Henry swipes his tears away with his sleeve, plunging is hand into the jar and withdrawing. Jerky, but certain. He practically throws the ashes out over the sea, every inch of him tight as a wire. He glares as he brushes past Killian.

It strikes him as he steps up and slides his own hand into the jar of ashes that he is too rational, too calm. He should be as angry as the boy, he knows that. He should be cut to the core. He should hurt more.

He knows all too well what goodbye feels like and it is not this.

This realization as ashes trail from his fingers cuts him to the core. He ducks away from Snow's sad eyes and concern, feels even less able to meet David's heavy gaze, and shambles back to his ship.

When she rescued him from the River of Lost Souls, her eyes bore the scars of a heart torn open. With his ship creaking around him, he realizes that is not how he feels. Sad, yes, but not overly sad—no raw, gaping wound in his chest as with Liam and Milah. The dull ache of a love long gone, perhaps, but nothing more crippling. Not for the first time, he wonders if true love can be one-sided—but this time it is not her love he questions. How can he? She weighed her heart, she opened the door. She loved him better and truer than he has ever known. She taught him what true love was when he thought he already knew the meaning.

For the first time, he wonders if he simply isn't capable of true love. Too dark. Too broken.

How else does he explain making it through this day with his sanity intact? Without tears? With more sorrow in his heart for her parents and son than for her?

He spends that night wrestling with an all-consuming guilt.

He spends the next day in a rum-soaked haze.

The fifth day he spends hungover and contemplating the best way to leave Storybrooke.

He belongs nowhere now, least of all here, least of all with this family that mourns her with every fiber of their being. This family that still sends leaves him concerned voice messages despite what his all-encompassing failure.

He considers sailing out of the harbor and never looking back. He considers gathering his crew—though he has no desire for the constant company—and convincing Zelena to use the apprentice's wand to take them home.

Except he has no home.

Except he probably only fooled himself into thinking he had one in the first place.

She could make sense of all this. Perhaps it would be a lie, but she could tell him he was being ridiculous and he'd believe her.

He misses her.

He considers taking the Jolly out far enough they'll never find his body, but for reasons he can't name, he knows he can't do that.

On the sixth day, booted heels thump on his deck, a cautious voice calls his name.

Regina's eyebrows shoot up when he appears topside still clad in the shirt and pants he wore to the funeral. Quickly though, concern clouds her features, her gloved fingers twisting so tightly they look ready to snap.

"Henry isn't here, is he?" she asks.

Killian scans the deck with a baleful eye. "Nope."

"You're sure?"

"I think I'd notice a stowaway on my own ship."

She twists her mouth in a line that indicates she thinks otherwise. "He was supposed to go back to school today, but Snow hasn't seen him," she says. "She thought I kept him home another day, so I didn't know until a few minutes ago."

A stiff wind comes up, cutting through his thin linen shirt. He fights back a shiver.

"I was hoping..."

Killian shakes his head. "I haven't seen him since..." His voice falters, he cannot say those words. Clearing his throat, he tries again, "Since Friday." He turns away from her.

"Wait, where are you going?" Regina asks, her voice tight.

"To change," Killian replies without looking back, his foot already on the first rung of the ladder. "I'll need a jacket if I'm to go searching in this weather."

As he disappears below deck, a soft "Thank you," floats on the breeze.

There are many places he thinks to search. The tunnels under Storybrooke. The pond where he unleashed hell's denizens. The clock tower. The woods. But when he and Regina go their separate ways, her number newly programmed into his phone, his feet carry him to the one place he thought to never set foot in again.

The door to the house stands slightly open, the lad's keys still hanging in the lock. Dull, brown clumps—leaves leeched of their color by the rain have collected on the steps. The porch creaks, a puddle sits in a corner

"Henry?" Killian calls as he opens the door.

He scans the first floor quickly before climbing all the way to the third. He searches the second floor last, saving the room that had been his and Emma's until the very end.

The sight of the empty bed, the covers still thrown back carelessly, steals his strength for a moment and the dull ache of missing her roars to life. And yet, he can stand, he can tear his eyes away and see the open closet door and the swatch of light cutting through the dim light.

He finds Henry on the closet floor, back to the wall, knees drawn to his chest, face buried as his shoulders shake. Over those shoulders, his fingers gripping the leather tight enough to crumple it, rests the red jacket. Not the one she wore when they first met, but the one she wore so regularly it seemed like her second skin.

He crouches beside the boy, touching his shoulder gingerly, expecting to be rebuffed yet again.

Henry lifts his head, his eyes bloodshot, his face blotched and sticky from many bouts of tears.

"I miss her," he croaks.

"I know," Killian whispers, wishing he had more with which to comfort the lad. "I miss her too." His voice breaks. "So much."

The jacket falls from Henry's grasp as he flings his arms around Killian's shoulders and knocks him back against the wall. His head cracks sharply against the wall and the world spins for a moment. The small room smells of cinnamon and run and he understands why Henry fled here. He understands what the lad means when he says that he misses her.

Emma may not be here any longer, but he is.

He offers no words of comfort. Does not tell Henry that it will be alright. All he can do is return the lad's embrace, holding him as he cries enough for the both of them. And the extent of Henry's grief moves him to tears, quiet tears shed for the child who has lost so much at such a young age. At some point, his hand falls to the floor, seeking out the worn leather.

He knows now why he cannot leave. He will not be one more person Henry loses.

As long as fate will let him, he will take care of Emma's lad.

And he does, dragging him back downstairs and rummaging in the kitchen for something that hasn't gone bad.

"Are you up for a grilled cheese?" he asks, nose crumpling at the sight of molding leftovers.

Henry shrugs.

"Grilled cheese it is then," Killian declares. "Would you like some tea?"

Henry shakes his head. As Killian pulls out the cheap, plastic-like cheese and butter, Henry turns the electric kettle on. The low simmer of the water and the scrape of butter on bread become their conversation. At the flick of the switch, Henry retrieves two mugs from one cupboard and two packages of cocoa mix from another.

"Watch the sandwiches," Killian says as he pulls his phone out.

"You found him?" Regina sounds calmer.

"Aye." His eyes flick to Henry standing at the stove, staring down at the pan. "He came home."

On the other line, Regina sighs. "Good." A pause. "How is he?"

Killian considers the lad. Henry flips the second sandwich dispassionately.

"Well, we're making dinner," Killian supplies.

"Oh, okay." She accepts his non-answer, her voice heavy. "Do you want me to come get him after dinner?"

"Henry," he says, "how long do you want to stay?"

His eyes cut to the door, his shoulders sagging. "Mom can pick me up whenever she likes, I guess."

The sticky, sweet smell of sizzling butter fills the air for a moment. Killian presses his lips together, thinking.

"You're welcome to stay the night, if you like," Killian says, "if that's alright with your mother."

"It is," Regina says before Killian finishes the sentence.

Henry must catch that bit, because his eyes light up. The light dies just as quickly. "But you've been sleeping on your ship."

Killian smiles, leaning against the counter. "As it turns out that bunk isn't as comfortable as it once was."

"Okay," Henry says, the closest he's come to enthusiasm.

Killian nods. "Well, then, your majesty, I'll have him at your doorstep bright and early for school in the morning."

Silence crackles over the other line. Not the silence of an ended call, but the tension filled silence of a mind in motion.

"Hook, tell him he doesn't have to go if he doesn't feel ready," Regina says slowly. "Tell him I'll—"Her voice dies, but picks up again a moment later with more confidence. "I'll pick him up after work. Just let me know where."

Killian frowns, confused by how easily Regina swallows this, the lack of venom despite her worry earlier.

Unless she knew where her son was all along. It occurs to him that her worried expression from earlier might not have been Henry's _location_ that had her so worried.

"He's stubborn as—He's stubborn, but he misses you too, you know," she says in a low voice.

He swallows. "I know."

"Thank you, Killian."

The line clicks.

He doesn't brave their bed that night, but he makes a show of wishing Henry goodnight and closing the door, waiting until he hears Henry's door upstairs close before he changes into more comfortable clothing. He grabs his pillow and a blanket from the closet.

At the last moment, he tucks her pillow under his arm as well.

He sleeps on the couch, his phone set early enough to get up and make a good show of having slept in his room like normal. He falls asleep half-smothered as he inhales the scent of her shampoo, lemon and vanilla. In his dreams, he doesn't sleep alone.

They settle into a pattern. He starts dropping by the sheriff's station, to David's apparent relief and it feels good to have something to distract him. It distracts him so well, in fact, that he forgets she's gone. The more time passes, the more he finds himself turning to a woman who is no longer there or expecting to hear her keys in lock. He doesn't go back to the _Jolly Roger_ , not in any permanent capacity. They have no set nights that Henry stays over. Some days Killian comes home to the lad sitting on the steps or already in the house, munching on some of that horrible junk food he and his mother loved so much.

Grief weighs heavily on the young lad and Killian does his best to lift his spirits. On rare days, if he's lucky, he'll catch the flicker of her smile on the lad's face.

To his surprise, Regina accepts this shift without protest. He expects to catch the sharp side of her tongue each time he calls to appraise her of Henry's whereabouts, but he receives gratitude, though sometimes a bit grudging. It is clear the woman misses her son, wishes he ran to her when the grief strangles him, but she makes no fuss.

One day, weeks later, she requests a meeting at Granny's and Killian knows she has had enough.

He arrives early, knowing he has no right to ask her to let Henry continue to spend the night on occasion, but wanting to anyways. Wanting to keep this last bright spot in his life.

Regina breezes into the diner, the brightly jingling bell a stark contrast to the grim look on her face. She wears her trademark sensible pantsuit, a leather binder clutched in her arm. She slides in across from Killian without a smile. He expected no less.

"One night a week," he says. "At least allow us that."

Regina blinks. "What?"

"I know you miss him," Killian clarifies. "And I know you can't humor him every night, but perhaps we could have a night on the weekends?"

"You think I want tell my son where he has to spend his time?"

Killian raises an eyebrow.

Regina rolls her eyes. "Fine, I am a little...jealous, but if it would help him recover, I'd let him stay at your house every night."

"Oh," Killian says. "Then why are we here?"

"My will."

"What?"

"My will. It's a document that—"

"I know what a will is, your majesty." He waves her explanation off, his rings shifting slightly. As loose on his fingers as the clothes he wears. "What I don't understand is what it has to do with me."

Regina looks down at her hands. "I want to put you in it, Hook. As Henry's legal guardian should anything happen to me."

"Me?"

"No, moron, the other Captain Hook that's running around town."

"But he has..."

"David and Snow?" Regina flips the binder open, pulling out a stack of papers. "They are on the list. It's just..." Regina sighs. The papers flutter as the door opens again, admitting a gust of air that carried the promise of spring despite the cold bite. "You know the Charmings. They'll stay and fight until their last breaths. And I don't..." She glances around covertly, as though she expects to find Jafar lurking in a corner. "I'm the heaviest magical hitter we have on our side, if something happens to me, I want him with someone who will be willing to cut and run if things look bad enough."

"I feel like I should be offended."

Regina glares at him. "I just said you're the one I trust most with my son, it's a compliment." She rubs at her temple. "Look, you're the only one I'm sure would put Henry's life before anything else."

He hears the words she leaves unspoken.

"I'm honored," Killian says, "but I'll make no promises about leaving Storybrooke."

"I'm not asking you to," Regina says.

There are papers he needs to sign for her lawyer. She hands him a birth certificate, school records, all of them bearing the name "Henry Jones". He looks up in surprise.

"They're real." She shrugs. "Well, as real as false documents can be. No magic. I paid good money to get someone to forge these."

"What for?"

"So you'll be prepared. In case you do end up leaving. You can pass for his father easily enough and it will be easier out there if you're his father legally."

Killian swallows as he looks at the birth certificate, a lump rising in his throat as he sees her name in the appropriate spot. Henry is not the only one with a different last name on this piece of paper.

Regina offers a sympathetic glance. "I didn't think it would be wise to use Swan, they might have traced it to records that would conflict with these."

He nods. "Makes sense. I'll be right back." He slips quickly to the back of the restaurant, locking himself in the bathroom as he fights against the burning sensation behind his eyes. He tries closing them, but that only makes it worse. The two words are written across the back of his eyelids, over and over, her name paired with his. A future that will never be now, he knows that. He _knows_ that. But, oh, how he still wants it.

When he collects himself enough to return to the table, Regina pulls out a large, goldenrod envelope. "There are documents for both of you, ID cards, everything you might need to start a new life. I hope you don't have to use it, but if you do..."

"And David and Snow?"

Regina's nails make a hollow tapping sound against the table. "I'll talk to them. I don't think they'll see a problem." She nods. "This is what she would have wanted."

As it turns out, David and Snow share the sentiment. David badgers Killian until he agrees to learn to drive, in the truck, not the bug. As much as the idea of driving that car appeals to his more masochistic side, it requires two hands and he fears damaging it should he try to figure out how to manage with his hook.

He dodges Snow's invites to dinner at the loft, until one day it isn't Henry he finds waiting for him at home, but the princess. He isn't rude enough to slam his door in the face of a lady—at least not one that he's on friendly terms with—and she waltzes inside, declaring that they are having a family dinner here.

"You can sulk upstairs if you like," she says, setting her bag of groceries on the counter. "But this is happening. David's picking up Henry and Neal and we're not leaving until we've eaten."

It is a beginning and the smile that lights up Henry's face as they all sit around the table is the only convincing Killian needs to keep the tradition up.

It feels a bit like the days after Zelena's defeat and he finds himself at the loft as often as he finds himself at home. Soon, there is something known as a "Pack and Play" in the spare room and Neal's things scattered around his living room. He dreads the day Snow asks him to watch the tyke—he knows it's crossed her mind more than once—and only hopes that she'll wait until the prince is out of diapers at least.

One night, she hands him a yellow envelope, much like the one Regina gave him for Henry.

"She's onto something," she says by way of explanation. "David and I, we're tied here—we have an obligation to these people, but if something were to happen to us, you wouldn't be."

Killian doesn't think of saying no. He sees the regret in her eyes, can tell how badly she wishes that protecting her daughter had been this easy. No matter how calmly she accepted Emma's decision, it pains her.

Jafar remains in everyone's periphery. Elusive. Clever. Hard to pin down. The only boon is that the sorcerer is too proud to seek the Crocodile's help.

The ease with which he turns away from vengeance scares Killian. He would make the effort regardless, he has Henry to think of now, but the rage doesn't burn as it did three hundred years ago. He possesses an odd calm when he thinks of the sorcerer. Just one more way that he gives Emma less than she deserves.

Still, he is threatening the town and Killian is on the side of heroes now, which means that when they need him, he answers the call.

Months after her death, at the point of the year when the last of winter's chill makes for pleasant sailing in the afternoon, Regina locates his lair. Hidden in a pockets of tunnels, a maze of stone, twisting and dark.

They find him not at home.

"Split up," David says. "There has to be something here that can help us."

Electric lantern hanging from his hook, Killian creeps into the darkness, glad to be long past his childish fear of the night. Something deep in his gut pulls him forward, his feet finding the path as surely as if he knew it by heart. Ridiculously, he imagines he could switch the lantern off and still find his way.

He does eventually pause to switch the light off, but not for any foolish flight of fancy. Up ahead, he spies the glow of another light source spilling across the floor of his tunnel, bright enough he can see the circle of the passageway in its glow. Stepping carefully, slowly, so as not to dislodge loose stones he creeps up to the opening. Pressing his back to the tunnel wall, he cranes his neck, peering into the room.

The cavern appears empty, though it clearly a living area. He can see the edge of a couch, the rest hidden beyond his periphery. A roaring fire burns in the hearth near a desk cluttered with magical objects and several shelves stand against the wall. Several feet of bare cavern floor separate this nearer side of the cavern from the more comfortable area he spied.

Sword held high, he edges into the room, ready for the wards to go off. He hears no blaring alarms, no sound of a magical beast waking from its slumber.

A soft gasp echoes through the cavernous room and Killian whirls, his heart jumping into his throat, though he doesn't place why until he sees her.

His first thought is that it's a trick. A trap laid by Jafar, but the moment he meets her eyes his entire world clicks back into place. He understands why there is no gaping hole inside him. Why it never felt like the true good-bye.

"Swan."

He hears metal clatter to stone and vaguely notes that he has dropped his sword, but he only sees her, with her wide green eyes and glowing blonde hair.

"Killian, stop!"

Her voice rings through the air and he obeys without thought, stumbling to a stop a few feet out of reach.

Emma lifts a hand and presses it against thin air, her palm flattening against a barrier he cannot see.

"If you step across the line, you'll be stuck in here with me."

"I'll wager there isn't a handy way to get rid of it," he says, closing the distance between them, his eyes on the invisible line. He never has been much of a fan of lines.

"You found me," she says, her eyes on him, her smile bright despite the situation.

"You're alive."

"Yeah."

He stares down, realization dawning. "Gods, Emma, I'm so..."

"Hey," she interrupts, still smiling. "You found me."

"I'm getting you out of there." He takes a step back, searching for any discernable mechanism, runes he can smudge, something to break. After all this time, after thinking her gone for so long, he just wants to be able to touch her again.

"I think he used some of that invisible chalk that Gold has in his shop."

"Invisible chalk?"

"Right, that was when I left you in New York."

"Ah."

Her theory held up, he could see no discernable mark to the edges of the barrier. "I don't suppose you know how high up the wall goes, perhaps if I had a rope..."

"Already tried that," Emma replies ruefully.

She jerks her chin at the couch he. Now that he looks at it, he can see the way the arm is misshapen, as though pressed against something solid.

"Right." Killian takes a deep breath. He knows what he has to do, but the last thing he wants is to leave her here alone. Enough time has passed with her trapped here and him none the wiser.

"You want the good news?" she asks, her eyes crinkled up at the sides.

She is a marvel, his Emma, radiating joy despite the situation. Killian studies her. She still wears the clothes she wore the night of her presumed death. Her hair is a greasy mess, barely contained by a braid. To his relief, she shows no signs of starvation or abuse, though there are dark circles under her eyes...and yet, she looks lighter, more carefree than she has in ages.

"Of course."

"Jafar was the oracle," she says.

Killian tilts his head, considering her words. His brow furrows. " _The_ oracle, the one that told you..."

Emma crosses her arms, having the audacity to look smug despite the present situation. "It was all him."

His breath catches in his throat. "You said I couldn't step across the line."

Emma blinks. "Uh...yes..."

"So if I did this..." He steps right up to the line, carefully to leave a few inches between the toe of his boot and hers, and wraps his fingers around her elbow. Solid. Warm beneath his fingers. No phenomenal cosmic force pushes him forward, though a tingle of magic rings his skin.

Emma leans into the barrier, she tries to slide her hand down his arm and link their fingers together, but Killian has other ideas. Cupping her cheek, he leans through the barrier, pressing his lips to hers. Emma sighs into his mouth, cradling his hand against her cheek as they kiss, a tingle that has nothing to do with magic sings up his arm and fills him with a warm glow. When she pulls away with a smile and turns to press another kiss to his palm, he almost forgets why he should not cross into her prison fully.

Resting his forehead against hers, he catches his breath and reels his emotions back in. Though there will be no helping the grin on his face any time soon.

"You have to go." Her breath whispers across his skin, sending chills down his spine and nearly robbing him of his will to leave.

"I'll be right back," he says, kissing her again and deciding that it will not be the last time. She is alive. It most certainly won't be the last time. He pulls the knife from his belt, slipping his hand past the barrier one last time. "Just in case Jafar returns before I do."

He doesn't waste time, though part of him wants to back out of the room, wants to keep his eyes on her as she leans against her jail cell until he absolutely must turn away. But the key to her freedom is out there, searching the other tunnels. He spins on nimble feet, scooping up his sword and the lantern as he does so. Perhaps he is over hasty as he barrels down the tunnel in search of the others, but Emma has spent months in that cavern with only a narcissistic sorcerer for company he imagines. She deserves a bit of haste.

Snow, David, and Regina are not hard to find. Apparently, they managed to trigger some defensive spell while he was gone. Their racket travels down the tunnels long before he can see them. He bursts into the main cavern, sword held high, eyes sweeping the cave.

"Bloody hell," he says as he stares up at the giant looming over Emma's parents.

The giant consists entirely of rocks and mud, with a crudely carved face and bulky, ungainly limbs. David ducks a swinging fist and the collision of the creature's fist with the ground dumps him on his ass. Snow jumps in front of it loosing an arrow at the same time that Regina releases a fireball. Both glance off the thing's face.

"Hey, guyliner, a little help," the queen yells, dodging another swing.

"What the bloody hell is that thing?"

"A golem." Snow takes aim again as David rushes the beast. "Open wide pretty boy."

"There's a token. In its mouth," Regina says. The beast roars and she lets fly another fireball, missing again. But not before the golem treats all in the room to a good view of the shining sigil on the roof of its crude mouth. "Get rid of that and it goes back to being dirt."

Killian scans the room, looking for an advantage as he races to David's side. The basic plan seems to consist of trying to get the golem to open its mouth and hoping an arrow or a fireball lands inside. The golem swipes at Killian, nearly knocking him down.

"We need to get up to its level," Killian shouts

"There." David points at a shelf of rock. "That could work."

"Distract him." Killian dodges under an arm and sprints for the wall of the cave.

Behind him, he hears the hiss of fire against stone, the chink of another arrow missing its mark. The shelf is high enough to bring him to eye level with the golem, but not so high that climbing will be an issue. He's thankful for that as the stone doesn't look particularly suited for climbing with hook.

He drops his sword, seizing the shelf with his good hand, using his feet to gain the leverage he needs to get his other arm onto the ledge. One of his buttons pops off as he hauls himself up. He grimaces at the sight of the now scratched leather.

Then he shrugs. He knows a lass that can fix it good as new with a wave of her hand.

"Oi," he shouts, waving his arms at the monster. "Over here you big git." Picking up a loose stone, he hurls it at the golem's head.

He hits his mark with a dull thunk and he writes that one down as something to tell Henry when this is all over. His lad would get a kick out of it.

The golem's head rotates in place on its shoulders.

"That's right," Killian says, "and I've got another where that one came from. What are you gonna do about it?"

He knows he looks the maniac, what with the broad grin he sports.

"Hook..." David draws out.

The golem twitches back toward the three of them, so Killian chucks another stone at it. That gets its attention. The beast lumbers around, its steps sending dust tumbling down from the ceiling.

The golem is big. The golem is powerful. But the golem is not particularly agile.

It tries swing one rocky fist down on Killian, only by the time the fist lands, he stands three feet to the right and its arm is trapped in a crevice. He jumps, using the creature's arm as a gangway to its shoulder.

It turns its head, blasting him with noise and foul air as Killian plunges his hook into the creature's mouth, twisting until it hits the glowing sigil.

The monster's head crumbles around his hook. As does the rest of the creature, forcing him to jump or land on his ass. He rolls with the momentum, sloppily, his roll ending with him staring up at the ceiling.

He can't help it. He laughs.

And then David looms over him, offering his hand.

The prince eyes him suspiciously. "Are you alright?"

"Better than you know, mate," he says, accepting the help up.

David blinks. "I take it you found something useful then?"

Killian's grin widens. "Not something. Someone." He tries to elaborate, but Snow cuts him off.

"Which way?" she demands, scooping up her flashlight. "Where is she?"

Regina and David share a glance, confusion etched in nearly identical expressions.

Snow huffs. "There is only one person I know that has ever made him smile like that. Now which way, Killian?"

He doesn't need asking a third time.

A strangled, "What?" escapes David's lips as Killian passes him, followed by the sound of boots on the stone floor.

He explains quickly, describing the room and the barrier in as much detail as he can. The lights bounce off the walls as Snow and David keep pace with him, fingers intertwined.

"I'm hate to be the one to ask," Regina breaks in, "but are you sure it's her?"

"Absolutely."

"But...how?"

"I just...knew," he says. "I saw her and I knew."

The soft glow of Emma's prison appears in front of them and they lower the lights again, slowing their footsteps. Just as with last time, the study like area stands empty. He nods.

Snow rushes past. "Emma?"

"Mom?"

Besides him, David lets out a long breath, leaning against the wall briefly before entering.

"No, Mom, you'll be-"

"I don't care."

Killian enters on David's heels, just in time to see Snow embrace her daughter, heedless of the invisible wall now imprisoning her. Emma buries her face in her mother's shoulder, her fingers clutching at Snow's thick winter coat. David does not join them. Sword in hand, he turns to the door.

"Regina, can you get them out of there?" he asks.

"I'll see what I can do." Regina examines the floor. "Emma, where is the barrier?"

Emma disentangles herself from her mother's embrace to toe at the wall. "Here."

Regina presses her lips together, considering. Her hands glow a soft as she holds them up to thin air. There is a pulse of power and suddenly, the empty air in front of them is awash with a curtain of shimmering red light. It curves around Emma's area, reaching all the way to the ceiling.

"See?"

"Have you tried your magic?" Regina asks.

"I haven't." She holds up her arm, pushing back the sleeve to reveal a thick, jeweled bracelet. "When I woke up, I was wearing this."

Snow immediately reaches for the cuff, but it sparks and Emma winces.

"You need magic," she says through gritted teeth.

Snow makes an apologetic noise, reaching for her daughter's hand.

"Well, let me get you out of there and I'll see what I can do about it," Regina says, brow furrowed as she examined the slowly fading light. "This is definitely rune magic. Powerful stuff..."

"Aye, we're aware," Killian says. "Seeing as it's kept the bloody savior locked up for nearly four months."

"Hey," Regina snaps. "I'm on your side, I just...need a moment."

"We're not exactly on friendly turf," David says. "We might not have a moment."

"Would you rather I blast the five of us to smithereens?" Regina kneels, tracing her finger along the line. Carefully, she rubs the dust between her fingers, considering. "Okay, I don't think I have enough juice to blast through this."

"Then..." Snow starts.

Regina holds her hand up. "But, I might be able to redirect it, create a hole of sorts."

"Okay," Emma says. "Mom you go first."

"No, I'm not leaving you."

"He needs me for some reason, he doesn't need you. Besides..." Her eyes lock with Killian's. "I'll be right behind you."

Regina swallows, planting her feet and taking a deep breath. Killian takes up position on her other side, glancing toward David at the door. With no sign from the other man that dangers approaches, he nods to Regina.

Her hands start to glow, brighter this time, and the red light returns. This time with a circle of clear air cut out of it, no bigger than a diner plate. Regina spreads her hands apart, widening the circle.

"Mom, go," Emma says.

"Come on, love," Killian offers his hand to Snow.

The princess takes it, clambering out as quickly as she can.

"You okay?" Emma asks, her eyes shooting to Regina.

"Just get out of there," she grits out.

Killian doesn't wait, he reaches inside, wrapping an arm around Emma's waist. She goes with his cue, leaning out, arms circling his shoulders as he half drags her through the hole until she is far enough out for him to lift her the rest of the way. She doesn't let go when he sets her on her feet. Rather, she tightens her grip, her cheek pressed just beneath his jaw.

She is a miracle, he decides as he buries his fingers in her hair and pulls her closer, grateful to just feel her ribs expand and contract as she breathes. No matter what his heart told him, he thought her gone. He listened to logic and logic told him he would never see her again.

That makes three times he's been wrong.

He hopes they don't have to test it a fourth time.

"Not that I'm trying to interrupt anything that may or may not be happening back there," David calls out, an edge in his voice. "But unfriendly territory."

"He's right," Regina says, a bit breathily. She looks paler than a moment ago, but she straightens back up and holds her hand out. "Let's see what we can do about that cuff."

Emma proffers one arm, while keeping the other tight around Killian, her fingers doing that bloody distracting thing in his hair.

The cuff falls easily enough and Regina pockets it. "Let's go." She smiles tightly. "I know someone who misses you very much."

"Yeah," Emma says. "Let's go home."

"Hold on, love," Killian says, spying the jacket sitting on the arm of the couch. He snatches it up and hands it to Emma. "It's a bit nippy out there."

She giggles at that, tugging him toward the door and her father.

David relaxes his guard as they approach.

"Hold on." Regina holds up a hand. "Before we do anymore happy reunions, let's get out of this cavern."

Purple smoke envelops them and the familiar sensation of being spread out and coming back together washes over Killian. The only thing he really knows on the journey is that Emma's hand never leaves his, though he's not quite sure how that works. They're in Regina's office at city hall, the window throwing long shadows across the floor.

David gets his bearings first—or it's his sheer bullheadness coming through—for he moves before any of them, wrapping his arms around Emma. It's unclear who holds up whom as the big man lets out a gasping sob.

"I'm so sorry," he rasps.

"It's okay," Emma says. "It's okay." She opens her arms for her mother and the three of them stand for a long moment, holding each other. "Now," Emma says, pulling away and wiping at her eyes, "it's time for me to go find _my_ kid. Regina—"

"He's probably at your place," the mayor says. "But maybe I should warn him first."

Killian steps forward. "Let me. Please."

Regina nods.

For the second time that day, he closes his eyes in one location and opens them in another. He staggers for a moment, hand closing around the picket fence as he struggles to keep his balance and glad that Emma prefers to walk places.

Grinning, Killian pushes through the gate, taking the front steps two at a time. His key slides into the lock, but the door rips open before he gets the chance to turn it.

"Where have you been?" Henry demands.

"Listen, Henry," Killian says, heedless of the boy's tone, "we found Jafar's lair and..."

"We who?"

"Your grandparents and Regina, but—"

"All of you?" Henry asks. He shoves at Killian's shoulder. "You went after the guy who killed my mom and you didn't even bother to tell me? What if something had happened? What if—What if—" He clutches at Killian's jacket. "I've been here for two hours and I didn't know anything!"

"Hey, hey, hey," Killian squeezes the boy's shoulder, ducking to meet his eyes. "No one was hurt, lad. But something did happen..." He grins.

Henry glares at him, but there are tears in his eyes. "Did you find a way to defeat Jafar?"

"No, we found something better." He takes a deep breath. This is the sort of news you're supposed to tell someone to sit for, but he has no doubt that Emma is hot on his heels. "He didn't kill her."

Henry snorts. "Of course not, it was the sword and the fire that killed her."

Killian grasps his arm, ducking down to the lad's level. "No, Henry, she's alive."

Henry regards Killian as though he grew a third eye, breathing in short pants. He shakes his head. "No, I would know, I would...she's my mom, I would feel it. I would—" He hiccupped. "I always felt like she was right there. I always—"

"Hey, I know, I know." He wraps his arms around the boy. "I felt it too, I just didn't understand."

The stairs creak behind him, but the sixth sense that kept him alive for nigh on tree centuries in Neverland stays quiet, so he knows who it is. A hand squeezes his arm and Emma walks into view.

"Hey, kid," she murmurs.

Henry lifts his head, tears streaking his face. He blinks, catching at the hand that moves to caress his cheek. "It's really you?"

"Yeah, I'm right here."

The lad throws himself at his mother, delivering a bone-crushing hug. Emma holds onto him, whispering comforting words, rubbing slow circles in the middle of his back. Killian steals her hand for a moment, pressing a kiss to the back before heading inside and turning on the electric kettle.

Full dark falls before Emma and Henry come inside.

The others follow soon after and Emma explains what she knows. She picked up bits and snippets of Jafar's plan while his prisoner—the man apparently had a penchant for monologuing—but he never strayed close to his true purpose in Storybrooke.

"Whatever he wants, I think it's connected with what happened in Agrabah," she says finally before taking a sip of her cocoa.

Since she got there, Snow has put many a barkeep to shame in keeping her daughter supplied with hot chocolate. No sooner does Emma finish one cup than a new mug appears at her elbow, though Snow's used nearly all of them by now.

David crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. "I'll talk to Aladdin and Jasmine and see if any of what you've told us triggers something."

"And to think," Snow says, stilling behind her husband for a brief moment, "Jafar has been lying all this time."

Killian and Regina snort in unison.

"Well," Killian says, ignoring the shared moment, "he is a villain. I have it on good authority that they're all liars."

Regina rolls her eyes.

Killian shoots her a look.

"Look, we can take care of that in the morning," she replies. "I think we all deserve a good night's rest after all this." She raises an eyebrow, meeting first Emma's eyes and then flicking her gaze to Henry, so quickly the lad probably missed it.

Emma sits forward, her hand covering her son's. "And some of us have school in the morning."

"Seriously, Mom?"

"Seriously, Henry."

"Now, Swan-"

"Actually, Emma-"

Killian and Regina both cut off, gesturing for the other to speak first. Emma stares at both of them, before her gaze settles on Regina.

"You're okay with that...I mean, I know you," she turns to Killian, "have no problem with playing hooky, but..."

"I think even the strictest teachers can make an exception," Regina says.

"Ha," Henry says, pumping his fist in the air. "Two out of three parents agree, you're outvoted."

Emma gapes at the two of them. "I-I-" She glares at Killian.

He smiles.

"Well, glad that's settled." Regina stands, brushing out the wrinkles in her slacks. "Now, some of us have to get to work in the morning. Namely, those of us whose mother has not just returned from the dead." She graces the room with a tight smile. "A fact I'm sure we're all grateful for, in my mother's case." She tightens the knot on her coat and breezes out the door.

Emma watches her go, a thoughtful expression on her face.

At Snow's prompting, David stands as well, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of Emma's head before walking arm and arm out the door with his wife.

Emma squeezes Henry's hand once more. "I'm beat, kid, you mind me calling it a night?"

"Pancakes in the morning?" Henry asks.

"Sure."

He still bears the shadow of his scars in his eyes, even as he hugs his newly returned mother, but the light and joy have truly returned to the lad's features. He was always going to be alright, but now, with time, he would be as he was. He bounds up the stairs with the unconquerable enthusiasm of youth.

Killian and Emma follow at a more sedate pace, entwined hands hanging between them. With a coy smile, she bumps his shoulder.

"So you're a parent now."

He lifts his hand, without letting go of hers, to scratch the spot behind his ear as he thinks.

"Hey," Emma says, squeezing gently. "It's where we've always been headed."

"Aye, well..." He feels the heat creep into his cheeks. "That's the first time he's said any such thing."

Emma laughs softly. "In that case, I'm surprised Regina didn't set anything on fire."

He sighs. "I have something to show you."

The tug is redundant, she would have followed him anyways, but the gentle request that she follow feels right. As he closes the door behind him, she slips up and places her arms round his waist. If she notices the two pillows on his side of the bed, she makes no comment as she follows him to his nightstand.

The papers from Regina and her parents are in the top drawer, buried under a layer of other odds and ends. He fishes them out, the paper crinkling as he hands them to her. She looks up at him with both eyebrows raised as she opens the envelope and peeks inside. Mattress springs groan beneath her as she sits. All the certificates and IDs slide from the envelope and she picks them up one by one, eyes growing rounder with each piece of paper.

"As you can see," Killian says to fill the silence, "this isn't exactly the first time Regina and I have discussed it."

"What is all this?" Emma speaks low, her voice slightly hoarse as she takes in the piece of paper trembling in her hand.

"A contingency plan," Killian says. "I was deemed most likely to cut and run, so…"

"That is so not what this is about." She sniffles, wiping her nose on a sleeve. "This was Regina's idea?"

He nods solemnly.

"We should hold onto these," she says, carefully tucking the birth certificate back in the envelope. "This is Storybrooke after all. You never know, we might need them." She swipes at her nose again, before turning back to him with a smile. "Anything else exciting happen while I was gone?"

"Your father taught me to drive."

"Oh? And how did the mailboxes fair?"

"Better than when he taught your son how to drive."

She laughs and until the day he dies, he is certain that he will never find any magic more powerful than the sound of her voice. Or the force of her smile. Or the press of her lips on his. He leans into the fingers caressing his jaw, breaking the kiss to press his lips to her palm. Her thumb strokes his cheek once and she turns away and puts the rest of the documents in the envelope one by one. He hopes she's not asking for space, because he's not sure that's something he can give her right now—he will have to give it to her eventually for some reason or another, this is Emma after all, but in this moment he thinks he'd rather die again than ever be separated from her.

Long moments of silence stretch on after she slips the last ID card into the envelope and refastens it.

"You alright, love?" he asks.

She nods. "I spent so much time, worrying about everyone, about Henry, about you." She reaches up, tangling their fingers together, smiling when he squeezes back. "But you guys were okay. Or you were going to be," she adds when he starts to protest. "I'm just glad you were going to be okay." Her voice skips on the last word.

Gently letting of her hand, he plucks the envelope from her grasp and slides it back into the nightstand. "Why don't I get the shower started for you, I know you told Henry you were tired, but—"

"Yeah, I lied. Though a shower does sound nice. Or maybe a bath, with plenty of bubble bath." She grins wickedly and there is no mistaking her thoughts or the thrill it sends down his spine.

He hesitates though. "Are you certain?"

"Killian," she says, the tone of her voice divesting him of his resolve as easily as her hands remove his jacket, "I have spent months with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs and sleep. It's going to be at least as long before I even know what tired means."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Hmmm, I think I remember something about you liking those." She stretches onto her tiptoes, nose brushing against his, taking a deep slow breath before meeting his lips.

"Actually," he murmurs, brushing his lips against hers once and then twice before he continues, "I believe my exact words were 'I love a challenge'."

"Good thing too."

* * *

A "little" something I wrote for the CS January Joy project on tumblr.


	20. Fate or Destiny or Whatever

Normally, Emma loved that her kitchen could fit her whole family comfortably.

Tonight, though, all those people just made her head throb worse as they talked back and forth about the object she held in her hand. All of them so caught up in the excitement of finally having the shears back in their possession that none of them had noticed her silence.

"We could put them in the vault." Regina paused her pacing. "No one can get in there unless I let them."

"That spell has been broken too many times," her dad shoots back. "We need something better. Somewhere no one will think to look."

"Maybe it's not a somewhere that we need," her mom said, her finger tracing the rim of her mug. "Maybe it's someone. Namely, all of us."

"What are you getting at?"

"The Evil Queen didn't make her move until the shears were no longer in anyone's possession," Snow said, sitting forward. "Maybe if someone's holding onto them, no one can steal them."

David nodded. "So we all share the burden of holding onto them and she has no way to know which of us has them."

"Or she could just knock all of us out at once and search our bodies at her leisure." Killian's hand on Emma's shoulder tightened a little, tension radiating down his arm even as his thumb rubbed circles on the back of neck.

"Do you have a better idea?" Regina snapped.

Emma closed her eyes, her grip around the shears tightening. Before anyone could say anything else, she stood, her chair screeching against the tile floor.

"Guys, that's enough."

Everyone but Killian flinched like she'd slapped them.

Emma sighed. "Look, Killian and I will figure out what to do with these. If we need your help, we'll let you know. Okay?" She willed her hand not to shake, gritting her teeth with the effort.

"Okay," Snow said. Her mom stood, gathering the mugs of cocoa sitting on the table and carrying them to the sink. She worked quickly, efficiently to load the used cups into the dishwasher as her dad ran upstairs to get Neal from the pack-n-play in the spare bedroom. Regina went to the closet and grab her coat.

Henry's mouth became a thin line when she returned with his in hand as well. "Mom, I know it's your week, but..."

"No," Emma said. "It's fine, Henry. No reason to upset the schedule."

"But..."

Emma looked to Regina, imploring her, but it was Killian who stepped in first.

"Emma's right, lad, the shears are with us now, there's nothing to be worried about." He clapped his hand on Henry's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Henry's eyes narrowed, as though he suspected a trick.

"I won't do anything without letting you know first, kid," Emma said. "You know that."

David, holding a groggy,fussy Neal, came tromping downstairs as Snow turned on the dishwasher. The dull thrumming added another layer to Emma's headache. Her parents held her close for an extra moment each when they hugged her goodbye, but finally, it was just her and Killian in the house and she felt she could breathe again.

Gentle fingers glided down her arm, closing over her hand and the shears.

"Why don't you let me take care of these for now," Killian said, "out of sight, out of mind. You can decide where to hide them in the morning."

"No." The shears moved in her hand, their blades scraping against each other. "No, I—we need to decide what to do with them. Tonight."

"Hey. It's okay. It's okay." He ran his hand up and down her arm, his hook curling around to pull her closer. "We have them, Emma. No one else is getting ahold of them tonight. We have time."

But they didn't have time. That was exactly the point. That was exactly why she couldn't let go of the shears.

Seven days they had haunted her and here they were in her hand, finally. And she wanted to use them so badly. She wanted to use them right now and be sure, be safe. Know that that the future she could see so clearly right now could come to pass. She knew, deep down in her soul, that it would be a selfish choice, one that would likely haunt her for the rest of her life.

But couldn't live with the alternative. Literally.

"I shouldn't have asked you to hide the shears," she blurted out. It's only one of the things that weighed on her all week, but it's the least nerve-wracking.

Killian flinched and of course, of course he took it the wrong way. "Aye, I am sor—"

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Emma said. "I meant—" She sighed. "I mean, _I'm_ sorry I asked you to do that. Without even talking it over with you first."

He shrugged. "It's your decision."

She gripped his arm with her free hand. "But I could have at least heard you out, given you a say." She looked down at their shoes, feet spread so their feet interlock almost. Swallowing, she continues, "I'm still figuring out this whole functional relationship thing. So I'm sorry and I don't want to do this on my own again."

"You're not on your own, love," he said. "And you never will be again." He pressed his lips to her temple, lingering. "I forgive you. You were just trying to do the heroic thing."

"Screw heroic," Emma muttered.

Killian drew in a quick breath, his body drawing tight as one of her mother's bowstrings.

"What happened to fighting?" he asked.

"I can't fight if I'm dead."

Killian stepped back, shaking his head. "So you _want_ to use the shears now?" He raked his hand through his hair. "Emma, I know this has been weighing on your mind the last few days, but this means parting with your magic for good. Are you sure that's what you want?"

Her breath caught in her throat. No, it wasn't what she wanted, but it was looking more and more like the best chance open to her.

"I'm not willing to pay the price anymore," she said. "I want to live."

"You will," he said, his voice hard and sharp as a knife. "We'll find a way."

"Maybe this is the way," she shot back. Her control from early vanished, her hand trembling. "Besides, you're the one who kept them the first time. You can't tell me you think it's a terrible idea."

"I kept them as a contingency, love," he said. His hand brushed down her arm, fingers curling over hers and trapping the shears. "It seemed foolish to dispose of such a powerful object before we found any other alternative, but, Emma, I do believe there is an alternative." He smiled, a barely there smile that showed mostly in his eyes. This time, she let him pull the shears from her grasp and set them on the table behind him. He laced his steady fingers with her increasingly unsteady ones. He ducked down, his eyes holding hers as easily as he held her hand. "Emma, what changed your mind?"

She swallowed. Here was the crux of the matter. Weeks weren't long enough anymore. Months weren't long enough. Years, she needed years, as many of them as she could rip away from that bitch called Destiny. Tugging him away from the kitchen and into the living room, she made a beeline for the couch. Killian sat beside her, turned slightly so his knee brushed her thigh, his presence comforting.

Emma took a deep breath, fighting back the feeling that things were moving too fast. It was all moving too fast. It was one thing to know that they were true love, to know he wasn't leaving, that this wasn't like every other relationship in her past. That he was here to stay. But it suddenly felt like all of her time was evaporating right in front of her. If she had known, if she had guessed all those weeks ago, she wouldn't have thrown the shears away. But how could she have known?

It was all happening so fast.

"Hey," Killian said, squeezing her hand and offering his gentlest smile. "I'm not going anywhere."

It required an inhuman effort to push back the tears, but she managed.

"It's not just about me, anymore…" Emma started.

Like a Band-Aid. Quick, like a Band-Aid.

"I'm pregnant."

Killian blinked. "What?"

Emma rushed on, the words pouring out of her now that she had pulled the plug. "I've been meaning to tell you all week." She shrugged. "But you know how things have been lately and I just could never find the right time or the right way. And I wanted to do things the right way this time, since, you know, I never got the chance to with Henry. I mean, he was eleven by the time Neal knew and...but none of that matters, none of that matters because I have no idea what's coming tomorrow and I just—"

"Are you sure?" Killian asked in a hoarse voice.

She nodded. "This isn't exactly my first time at this rodeo."

His eyes clouded for a moment as he tried to figure out the reference, but it only distracted him for a few seconds.

"We are going to have a child," he said. Then he added, "A baby."

"That is generally what pregnant means," Emma replied. Her lip caught between her teeth as she waited for the news to sink in, for him to react.

"Oh." He stared at her, with all the reverence and care that he had in Camelot, that he had the first time she told him she loved him with no other reason than that it was true. Maybe a little more dazed. She had just hit him with the Mack truck of life events. It would have been hilarious if her nerves weren't already vibrating at a mile a minute.

"You okay there, captain?" She forced herself to breathe, reminded herself that she wasn't alone this time.

"I—" Killian shook his head, the glazed look fading a little. The tears in his eyes when he met her gaze again were the only warning she got. His hand jumped to her cheek and he surged forward, pressing his lips gently to hers.

Emma chased the kiss with a sigh, her fingers finding purchase on the lapels of his vest. She didn't have to ask twice for more. His fingers slid into her hair as he deepened the kiss and she lost herself in several slow, languid minutes, his gentleness and love chase away the proverbial sword dangling over her head, even if it was only for a moment. Killian moved as he ended the kiss, kneeling in front of her as she opened her eyes, his forehead solid and warm against hers.

"I love you, Emma Swan."

He said it like a prayer.

She didn't bother to correct him. "So, better than okay?"

"Aye," he whispered. Chocolate and cinnamon and a little bit of rum was on his breath. He sat back on his heels, still staring at her with the kind of adoration that should be reserved for deities and spectacles of nature. His fingers found hers, slipping between them with practiced ease. "Are you?"

Emma laughed. "Yeah, fine, I'm—"

Killian shook his head. "No, I meant—" He sighed, ducking away from her searching gaze. "Apologies, love. Of all things I expected to hear, good news was not one of them. Let alone this."

"As evidenced by the lack of your characteristic eloquence."

Good news. He called it good news.

They hadn't exactly talked about this in so many words. She hadn't even been sure that she wanted another kid. Not until she saw that little plus symbol on the pregnancy test. Killian's reaction had been her one spot of uncertainty. Sure he got along with Henry, loved him, but that was a far cry from starting from scratch with a baby that wouldn't be able to tie sailor's knots or perfect a parry for years. She suspected on more than one occasion he had thought about it, especially considering the size of the house he picked out, but he never brought it up and she wasn't comfortable discussing it until she had a better grasp on her own feelings.

And fate or destiny or whatever had simply laughed at them.

"You're absolutely sure," he said again, his voice tremulous.

"Yes," she said. "I peed on a stick and everything."

"What?" His nose scrunched up and his brow furrowed.

Emma laughed. "Not a literal stick," she clarified. "It's a test we have here. I'll show you later..." Emma sighed, running a hand through his hair, less to calm him than to calm her. "Do you see now why I want to use the shears? I don't know any other way to be sure..."

He nodded solemnly. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, his hook a comforting weight on her thigh.

She'd had no idea that someone's eyes could hold so much joy and sadness at the same time.

"One of these days, Emma," he said, "you are going to realize that you are worth saving all on your own."

"You think that's what this is about?"

He tilted his head, smiling sadly. "I think you haven't a selfish bone in your body."

"I can be selfish," she said softly.

"Really?" One of those ridiculous, dramatic eyebrows winged up, mirth lighting his eyes. "Because as I recall, you spend most days chasing monsters and fixing other people's problems."

"I'm the savior," she said, "it's what I do."

"I know. I know, love. I just don't think you—"

"We."

"We, then." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "I don't think we should make any hasty decisions. Especially not out of fear."

Emma snorted.

"Don't deny it, Emma," he said.

"I'm not," she shot back. "On a scale of one to ten, I've been a twelve all week."

"Yes, I know." One of his knees popped as he pushed back up onto the couch, though if it hurt, he didn't show it. "Which is why I think this needs careful consideration. As far as we know, this is permanent."

"So is having a kid." She shoved off the couch. Their moment had passed and the same restless energy that had consumed her since she first started seeing the visions returned. "So is me dying."

Killian didn't move, but his eyes blazed. "I'd find a way to bring you back."

"Killian..."

He shrugged. "Don't tell me it can't be done."

Emma bowed her head, fingers massaging her temples. Soft footsteps came up behind her and his hand ghosted over the back of her neck for a moment before he started digging into the tension there.

"This is me being selfish," she said softly.

A long pause followed her words, tense with the weight of his thoughts.

"You'll find very few people that think a mother wanting to protect her child is selfish." His lips brushed against her ear with every word, sending chills down her spine.

She shook her head, turning to face him. "If this was just about that, it would be easy. I'd only have to postpone my fate for what..." She closed her eyes as she did the mental math. "Seven months."

"I thought..."

"By the time you realize you're pregnant, you're usually past the first month," Emma said with a shrug. "And I've been distracted, so I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have been." She held up her hand when he started to ask something else. "The point is, if protecting this—our kid was the point, I'm pretty sure it'd be fine as soon as it was born." She took a moment to appreciate the flicker of a smile that crossed his face at the word 'our'. She wanted nothing more than to go back to that happy, little bubble with him and live there forever. "I want more than that, Killian. More than a few months or even years. I want decades. I want this..." She gestured between them. "I want to grow old with you and watch our kid or kids grow up and have families of their own. And as long as I'm the savior that isn't going to happen."

The muscle in his jaw jumped and she knew he was dying to say something, but he knew she wasn't finished, so he kept his lips pressed tight. She loved him a little more just for that.

"So yeah," she said. "Wanting to use the shears is selfish. It means I'm giving up my ability to help people for something I want. All those people who might need me one day are going to be left in the lurch and that kills me, but I am not letting another one of my kids grow up without me." She pressed a hand to her still flat stomach, glad she no longer had to suppress the urge.

"You won't," he said, low and serious. "Emma, I swear you won't." He held her close, his hand moving to cover hers. "You're forgetting one very important fact though, love."

"What's that?"

"You don't need magic to help people."

"So you agree with me," she said, pulling back to look him in the eye.

Killian smiled. "It's an option. And I don't think it's the end of the world, but Emma…" He pursed his lips, brow drawing low as he carefully considered his words. "While I think we should hold onto them until we find an alternative, if there is one thing I've learned from you heroes—" He cut off, glancing away from her intense glare. "From becoming a hero, it's that there is almost always an alternative. As a former villain myself, I find it hard to trust the word of other villains."

Emma took a slow breath. "So…you don't think I should use the shears?"

"I think we should go to bed," he said, "and think on it in the morning when we have clearer heads." He kissed her softly again. "I'm with you whatever you want to do, Emma. I told you I'd never stop fighting and I meant it. We'll find a way to keep you safe." He grinned. "Both of you."

She couldn't help it, those eyes and that smile were too much, so she stretch up on her tiptoes and kissed him. It wasn't a particularly spectacular kiss, neither of them could stop grinning long enough for that.

"Okay," she said.

He followed her upstairs and they fell into their usual nighttime routine. As they were brushing their teeth, their skin still damp and tacky from an extended shower, Killian remembered the test and they lost a few minutes as he stared at the little bit of plastic, asking questions about its mechanics that Emma couldn't answer for the life of her.

Finally, she coaxed him out of the bathroom—convincing him to leave the test behind was no small feat—and into bed. The warmth of the blankets and soft pillows accepted her exhausted body as one of their own and she hadn't been curled up with her pirate more than five minutes before her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. She dozed, the gentle motion of Killian's fingers tracing looping patterns across her stomach the only thing anchoring her to consciousness.

"You're sure you're alright with this," he said, his voice feather light.

Emma hummed in agreement.

"Hard to believe that there is a child in there." Killian's hand pressed flat against her stomach.

"Give it a couple of weeks."

Silence blanketed them again and Emma was almost asleep when Killian sucked in a sharp breath.

"Bloody hell," he muttered.

Emma lifted her head, trying to make out his features in the darkness. "What? What's wrong?"

"Your father is going to kill me. Again."

* * *

This stupid thing has gone through two different versions. I started, but never finished it right before Dark Waters (6x06), so I had to rewrite about a thousand words, but the basic premise was the same-What would be enough to make Emma decide that using the shears was her best option.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy!


	21. Slow Dancing

Emma cut quite the figure, dancing with her lad, the white ballgown in stark contrast to his black tux. Soft music played as Henry led his mother—a bit stiffly, but with sure feet—across the dance floor. She said something too low to hear and he laughed, some of the tension in his shoulder easing.

Her smile was infectious, and though Killian was always quite certain he could not get any happier, every time he caught sight of that grin his joy grew. His heart fought to burst from his chest just watching them. His family.

He had a family.

The man he had been a hundred years ago would have laughed at the idea.

But that man could never have imagined that a woman like Emma existed.

Nor that a woman like Emma would consent to be his wife.

And that man most certainly would scoff at the notion that he could ever walk a hero's path.

"They make quite the pair, don't they?" Snow appeared at his elbow, her cheeks rounded and her nose scrunched by a wide smile.

Killian nodded. He wasn't familiar with this tradition of parent and child dance during the nuptials. Though, as there hadn't been much marrying going on aboard his ship, he couldn't claim to be an expert on the subject, not even in his own realm. He had attended two weddings in his time at the naval academy. One a stiff affair celebrating the union of a commanding officer. The other a rather jovial gathering for a fellow sailor that took place just before his graduation. Neither were anything like the event Snow had arranged for her daughter.

"Thank you for agreeing to this," she continued, "I know it can't be easy, watching them with your own mother gone. It wasn't easy for me."

"It was important to them" he said with a nod at the pair, "even if they wouldn't say so."

"Still…no one would have blamed you if you said it was too painful." She rested a hand on his arm, her smile wistful. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Snow was an orphan too, as bereft of family as he had been before she met David.

Granny—who possessed a surprisingly soft side when she put her mind to it—picked up the microphone then and opened the floor to any other "princes" and their mothers. A handful of couples, from Aurora with the toddling Philip Jr. to an elderly mother and her middle-aged son, joined Emma and Henry out on the dance floor.

To his surprise, Snow did not retrieve her son. Instead, she slipped her hand around Killian's elbow and gave a gentle tug.

"May I?" she asked.

"What about the young prince?" Killian asked.

"Well, for one thing, he's konked out on his father's shoulder at the moment, so you don't have to worry about him feeling left out," she said, leading him effortlessly onto the dance floor. She took his hook in one hand, placed his hand on her shoulder with the other, and raised an eyebrow. She nodded as Killian wove them into the flow of the dance automatically. "For another, he is two and I will get many, many chances to dance with my son. You, however, only get one wedding, Killian. So while I may not be your mother, I still care about you. That's good enough for me."

Killian swallowed several times before he croaked out a hoarse, "Aye." He cleared his throat. "You're sure we won't offend?"

"The only people whose opinions matter are right there," Snow said with a nod in Emma and Henry's direction. "And you know they don't mind."

Killian could not argue with that, not when confronted with his wife's crinkle-eyed smile as they passed each other.

"Besides," Snow said, hushing her voice and leaning close. "If we were in the Enchanted Forest, I'd be queen and no one argues with the queen."

Killian snorted.

"Except the king," Snow amended, her eyes cutting over to where David stood watching their daughter. "He was never afraid to argue with me."

"Was?" Killian prodded. "I'd say he still isn't."

Something in Snow's eyes melted, as though that was the height of romance. "No, he isn't."

"Mind if I cut in?"

Snow ceded her place without argument, patting Emma's shoulder as she retreated.

Years of training kept Killian's feet moving and he was certainly glad of it after the unexpected moments of the last few minutes.

"Where is Henry?"

"I wanted him to get to dance with both his moms," Emma said, nodding behind him.

At their next turn, Killian caught a glance of Regina smiling fondly at her son. He once again bore the severe concentration of someone determined to carry a dance off perfectly. Regina leaned in, whispering something that caused him to stumble a few steps and a look of shock on his face. Then he grinned, shooting back a quip as he fell into step again.

Killian turned away. "Quite magnanimous of you, darling, to share your moment."

Emma shook her head. "It's his moment, not mine. For the next minute at least."

"And yet here you are, dancing with me…"

"Working out quite well for me, isn't it?" Her smiled widened.

Killian hadn't known one person could smile so much until today.

The music played on softly and they danced. At some point, they shifted into something that Emma called slow dancing, though how anyone could call swaying side to side dancing, Killian didn't know. He also couldn't bring himself to care. Not with her arms around him and his around her and her head leaned against his shoulder.

"I'm glad we did this," she said softly.

"So am I, love."


End file.
